


72 Hours (More or Less)

by RebaK1tten



Series: 72 hours and 9 months [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And I adore Erica or who she could have been, Babies, Background Isaac/Allison, Everyone's alive, I feel sorry for Derek, M/M, Magic Stiles, Mpreg at the end, Rowena from Supernatural, Stiles ends up with a vagina instead of a penis for while, Wedding, Witch's spells, and the second part, background Scott/Kira, but this isn't a crossover, magical genitalia change, schmoop and fluff, so I guess kind of straight sex, stiles doesn't know when to shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: When the pack asks a visiting witch to leave, it doesn't go well. Maybe because Stiles is his mouthy self.The pack needs to figure out how to get her to turn Stiles' body back to his usual self and in the meantime, Stiles and Peter deal with his temporary female body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although his body is turned into a biological female, Stiles is a male and he's referred to as such. 
> 
> If I missed any needed tags, please let me know!

 

First off, everyone is annoyed and tired. It’s midnight when they finally find the witch. She’s in a small playground in the middle of the new suburban neighborhood, a place where soccer moms take their kids to play on the padded slides on top of the padded ground.

It took forever to find her. It took forever to even realize they have a witch in their town and that she’s not just passing through, she apparently intends to stay. That’s their guess at least, based on the trail of dead pets, burnt ground and the scent of magic left around the city.

Oh, and secondly, she’s not one of those nice witches who do spells to make your days sunnier or find your true love or any of that. No, she’s horrible. For reference, see the trail of dead pets. Her name is Rowena, and she’s snide and conceited and powerful. Even those without magic can tell she’s really powerful.

So yeah, glad they found her and no, tired and not really in the mood for any witchy shit.

Around the bench is well-watered grass, and she treats it like her throne. “And tell me why, exactly, you think I should leave? Do you think I’m afraid of your little pack of mongrels?”

Derek shows great self-control by not snarling, not even flashing his red eyes at her. “You should leave because you’re not wanted here. And there’s a few of us and we know where you live now and where you used to live. You should leave. Now.”

“Oh, please. I like it here. This seems like a nice little town. Quiet, maybe, but it could be much worse. There’s no plague,” she says, tossing her red hair, as she looks around the playground with a superior smile.

“Okay, here’s the thing, witch-lady. Good sized pack here. Retired emissary lives here and yours truly isn’t anything to sneeze at.” Stiles steps forward, pulling his arm away from Peter’s grasp. “And my father is in our pack _and_ he’s the sheriff. _And_ one of his deputies is an honest-to-god hell hound, no joke. So we’ve pretty much got the whole supernatural thing covered and we’re full up, no vacancies. Thanks for visiting, move it along, see you later.”

This gets her interest, which some people would consider a problem. “Aren’t you something?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You think you have power anywhere near mine, little boy?”

“No, I’m sure I don’t, but just saying the combined power of us and the actual human law… You aren’t wanted or welcome here. The Hale pack says, buh-bye.”

Peter steps in front of Stiles, gently pushing him back with his shoulder. “Miss Rowena, ma’am, you seem quite worldly; are you sure that a place as… honestly, as boring as Beacon Hills is suitable for you?”

The witch looks at him, then at the pack gathered around her in a semi-circle. She could escape, that’s the entire plan. She leaves, they follow her out and then, according to Scott, it’s over. She looks back to Peter and Stiles and smiles, which leaves an unpleasant feeling in more than one stomach. “You’re together? I can’t see that, I’m sure you could do much better.”

Stiles steps around Peter, sputtering, “Hey, hey, now you’re just being rude. Yeah, Peter’s a little smarmy and…”

She interrupts him and says, “I wasn’t talking to you, boy. _You_ are a typical rude, American male.” Rowena turns to Lydia and says, “It can’t be easy for you here. A woman and a supernatural.” She glances at Kira, Malia and Erica, eyes passing over Allison without wasting a second. “Several women in your pack; with the right training, you could go far.”

Stiles snorts and leans towards Peter. “Not easy being a woman? It’s obvious she’s never been hit in the nuts.”

Now she snorts and says, “No one was talking to you, boy. You have some special women in your pack, but for some reason, you’re the one who never stops talking.”

Lydia hides her smile behind her hand. Erica doesn’t bother, she chuckles out loud. “He’s loud, but he’s okay,” Erica asserts, smiling quickly at Stiles, before her eyes return to the witch.

“He annoys me,” Rowena tells them, sparing a glance at the pack’s emissary.

“Says the crazy cat lady,” Stiles stage-whispers to Peter.

“You need to learn to respect women,” she says. Then she nods once and in a flash of smoke, she’s gone.

 

The pack is all looking at where the witch stood and then vanished, until Isaac breaks the silence by saying, “Holy shit.”

They turn to look at him and then where he’s staring.

S

 

 

Stiles is standing slightly in front of Peter. He’s now several inches shorter than Peter, and his baggy clothes look even baggier. And he’s definitely a woman.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Stiles whimpers, looking around and then at Peter. Then he looks down, noting the hem of his pants puddled around his ankles. And the slight swell of his t-shirt.

“Peter…”

Peter takes a breath and then steps forward, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Breathe,” he says, inhaling deeply and exhaling along with Stiles. “Again,” he commands and they both do it a couple more times.

“Stiles are you…” Scott starts and then stops, shaking his head. “Man, that’s… I know it’s you, you look like you, but you look like…”

“You look like your twin sister,” Boyd says, leaning forward, without actually getting any closer to Stiles. “If you had a twin sister.”

“Okay, that did not go as planned,” Derek states, holding out his hands to the pack signaling they should stop talking. “But it’ll be okay. We’ll find her again, and she’ll turn Stiles back.” He turns towards Stiles and shrugs. “You were being a dick; you need to learn when to shut up.”

“Derek, you’re not helping,” Peter says, turning back to Stiles. “It’s late or early, depending on what you think. How about we all go home, and deal with this tomorrow after some sleep and breakfast? When we're all thinking clearly.”

“Go home? You think I can just go home like this?” Stiles asks, voice getting shrill, slightly higher than normal. “We live together, remember?”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Peter answers calmly. “It would explain why your clothes are always left everywhere.”

“And you’re like, mostly gay, like 90% gay,” Stiles says, arms flailing.

“Yes, I am aware of that, too. What does that have to do with anything?” Peter answers. He’s smiling a gentle smile, probably one only Stiles ever sees.

“Hello? Girl here? Oh my god, I’m a girl! We have to fix this! Derek, you’re the alpha, you have to fix this!” Stiles says, stumbling on his long pants as he grabs Derek’s arm.

“We’ll fix it,” Derek says, reaching over to rub Stiles’ shoulder. “Peter’s right, you should go home with him. I mean,” he shrugs and looks over at Peter. “You live with him, I don’t think he’s going to kick you out because a witch is messing around with you. He’s kept you this long, and why is sometimes beyond me.”

“We’ll rest up, have some breakfast. We’ll probably need to get you a few things to wear, if you’re going to be like this for a day or so.” Peter straightens Stiles’ shirt, pulling it from where it’s slipping off his shoulder.

“A day or so?” Stiles slumps, resting his forehead on Peter’s arm; earlier it would have been on his shoulder.

Peter looks at Derek, face much colder than when he looks at Stiles. “We need to plan. Obviously, this approach didn’t work.”

“I might have some things she could wear.” Malia steps forward, studying Stiles up and down. And then she sniffs him.

Peter shakes his head, flashing his eyes at Malia. “I don’t think he wants to dress in booty shorts and combat boots, but thanks for the offer.”

“I don’t wear…” She looks down at her feet. “They’re hiking boots. We run around a lot, you know.”

“I don’t want new clothes, I want my clothes,” Stiles says quietly. “I want my body back.”

“You’ll get it back,” Peter assures him. He puts an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, shifting a bit to adjust his arm to a different height. “We can take care of your clothes, just like we always do.” He turns, leading Stiles towards their car, parked a few yards away. “As usual, another success, alpha.” He looks over his shoulder and flashes his eyes at Derek, snarling, “You need to fix this.”

Derek looks at their retreating backs, and mutters, “He started it.”

 

Stiles remains quiet on the rest of the ride home and Peter guides him to their apartment. Thankfully, they don’t run into any neighbors, probably because they’re the only ones awake at almost three in the morning.

“If anyone sees you, we’ll say you’re Stiles’ cousin on a visit. We’ll have to think of a name for you, but we can do that tomorrow, maybe when we’re getting you a few things to wear.”

“You seem to have a few ideas on how to handle this. Were you thinking this could happen in our future?” Stiles enters their apartment and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water, avoiding the mirror in the hallway.

“No, but I’m good with quick plans, just as you are.” He smiles and kisses Stiles head, not commenting when Stiles takes a step back. “It’s one of the reasons we’re so good together.”

“ _Were_ good together. I don’t know how to do this, Peter. This is… I’ve been injured. I have scars. I’ve been in the hospital more times than I can think of, but I don’t know how to do this.”

Peter tsk-tsks and takes Stiles into his arms, not letting him pull away. “I know this is weird and scary, but honestly, you in one piece is more important to me than this temporary body.”

“It’s weird and it’s not who I’m supposed to be and not who we’re supposed to be and…”

Peter squeezes him for a moment and then moves back a bit so he can look at Stiles in the face. Normally he’s a bit taller than Peter and now he comes up to about Peter’s nose; about the same height difference as when they met years ago. “Stiles, I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits until he gets a nod before he continues. “You are more to me than a boyfriend or a lover. You are my partner, my equal. You’re everything to me and you always will be. There’s nothing you can do and nothing that can happen to push me away. So we’ll get through this. Together, okay?”

Stiles’ scent changes to relief and exhaustion and lovelovelove as he moves back into Peter’s arms. “Thanks, I needed that.” He pulls back a bit and says, “Hey, I think that’s you saying I’m your mate, right? Kind of a big deal there.”

“I suppose so, dearest. Derek already refers to us as mates. And I am a pushover for you.”

“Yeah,” he answers, snuggling back into Peter’s arms. “You’re a big marshmallow.”

“That’s supposed to be our secret.”

They stand, swaying slightly, neither wanting to break their embrace. “This is comfortable,” Stiles finally says. “I mean weird still, yeah, but comfortable on your shoulder and your chest like this.”

“It should be, you normally fall asleep there most nights.” Peter finally moves, covering a yawn with his hand. “Until you flail and roll off, after punching me in the stomach. Or smacking me in the balls. Speaking of, let’s go to bed.”

There’s a spike of nervous scent again, but Stiles nods and makes his way down the hallway to the bathroom. He stops in front of the mirror, finally seeing what everyone else has been looking at.  “Hmm. I’m funny looking.”

“No, you’re not,” Peter a tone he uses when he’s said this before. “You are a handsome man and a lovely woman; although that won’t be for long.”

“Hmm,” Stiles answers, but doesn’t sound at all convinced.

Peter opens the cabinet, getting out their toothbrushes, handing one to Stiles. “Wash up and let’s go to bed; today’s been a little tiring.” He stops when he sees Stiles frozen, looking in to the medicine cabinet. “Problem, dear heart?”

His voice is quaky as he rubs his chin, answering, “That’s my electric razor and I just realized I don’t need to shave – no stubble.”

“No, not today. But I don’t think we should throw it out. It’s temporary, remember that.” Peter finishes brushing his teeth, and spits out mouth wash, looking at Stiles as he rinses out the sink. “You okay?”

He snorts and shrugs, “Okay is kind of relative. I guess so.” He finishes up, drying off his face with a towel and firmly shutting the cabinet door. “I hope I don’t need to use that to shave anything.”

“Only if you were going to borrow Lydia’s clothes and we’re not doing that. Not that you wouldn’t look wonderful, because you would, but I’m not sure her style would be yours either.”

“Can’t I just wear jeans and t-shirts? Smaller, but still dress like me?” he asks, still looking in the mirror, poking at more prominent cheekbones. He touches the moles on his cheek and runs his fingers over the softer, downy skin.

Peter kisses his forehead and says, “Absolutely, that’s what I thought you’d like. We’ll get a few things tomorrow, just so you don’t trip over your clothes or fall out of your shoes. Now come to bed.”

“Thanks for not trying to remake me. And I’ll be there in a minute, just need some water.” Stiles takes a couple of steps down the hallway, away from their bedroom, heart jumping again. When he comes back, he stops by the bed, bottle of water in his hand.

“Stiles?”

“I’m just… thinking of what to wear to bed. Which, I know, but…”

Peter looks under the covers and back at Stiles. “I’m wearing my usual, naked like we always are. I don’t think either of us have any pajamas, but if you want, try a t-shirt. Or boxers. Or a t-shirt and boxers. Or a sweat shirt and sweat pants. Or I think we have your parka in the back room closet. Or we might have that ski jump suit you had to have and wore one time, but I’m not sure where it is.”

“Fine, sorry that I still find this strange, but don’t be mean, okay?” Stiles says, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a t-shirt. He keeps his back to the bed while he gets undressed and quickly pulls the shirt on, getting under the covers and staying towards the side of the bed.

“I’m sorry I snipped, I’m just tired,” Peter says quietly and turns off the lights. He rolls over and pulls Stiles to his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist, and sighing into the back of his neck. “You’re still comfortable; little different, but you smell the same.”

“At least there’s that,” Stiles says, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. “I guess I am the little spoon now.”

“You’re always the little spoon and I love you. Now be quiet and go to sleep.”

 

Stiles wakes up slowly, looking at the hint of light that sneaks through the sides of the black-out curtains. He’s snug under Peter’s arm, head on Peter’s chest, listening to the steady, soothing heartbeat.

“Go back to sleep, it’s early,” Peter mutters, too sleepy to do more than rub his face in Stiles’ hair.

“Time ‘zit?” Stiles asks as he wraps his arm tighter around Peter.

Peter fumbles for his phone on the side table and says, “It’s just after eight – early, shut your eyes and go back to sleep.”

“Eight? Time to get up, yeah?”

“No, remember, we didn’t get into bed until after three,” Peter answers, kissing Stiles’ head as he falls back asleep.

Stiles sighs and settles back in, thinking of what Peter said. Went to bed at three? Why would they… Oh god. He looks down and yes, those are breasts and with his leg wrapped around Peter there’s something different. “It didn’t change, Peter, I’m still…”

“Perfect, you’re perfect, dear heart,” Peter says, wrapping Stiles up more firmly. “But loud, so loud. Be quiet and go back to sleep like a good boy.”

“I’m a boy, but not a boy,” Stiles mumbles, “but I’m good.”

 

It’s closer to noon when they wake up again. “I’ll make coffee, if you want to shower first,” Peter offers, reaching for his phone to look for messages.

“Anything from the troops?” Stiles asks, shoving his hair out of his face. It’s slightly longer than his boy hair, barely down to his shoulders, but it seems like a lot on the top, flopping into his face. He’ll let Peter do something with it, he thinks, pushing himself so he’s sitting up.

“Nothing yet; I suspect they’re just getting up as well.”

Stiles watches Peter get out of bed, looking at him stretch, the muscles in his back and legs shifting. Peter looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised and a familiar smirk on his face.

“Asshole,” Stiles says, turning away with a blush.

“Maybe later, darling, coffee first.” He wiggles his hips as he leaves the room bare assed, to go start breakfast.

“What should I put on?” Stiles calls out, looking around their room. He’s got a couple of shirts that are a little small, ones he can’t bear to throw away, even though they’re old. There’s a Star Wars 30th anniversary shirt, but that might be too small, he thinks, holding it up to his chest. “Do you have any small shirts?” he calls out and then chuckles to himself – all of Peter’s shirts run small, at least on Peter.

Peter comes in with a mug of coffee and puts it on the dresser in front of Stiles. “I’ll see if there’s something you can wear out to the mall. I think Cora left a couple of things in the wash the last time she was here; check the dresser in the other room, anything she left would be in there.”

“Sounds like a good way to get my throat ripped out,” Stiles says, taking a slug of the hot coffee, fixed just like he likes it. “Do I really need to go out? Can’t we just go to the house and figure out how to fix this mess?”

“I’m afraid so, dear heart. Just a few items of clothes and then we should probably go and see your father.” Peter sighs, taking his own clothes out of the dresser they share. “I’ll admit I’m not looking forward to that.”

“So can we skip it? Why do we need to tell him at all if we’re going to get this fixed in a couple of days?”

Peter pulls a gray t-shirt over his head and throws one to Stiles. “Because your father would love an excuse to kill me and if someone tells him that they’ve seen me with an attractive dark haired woman, I’m sure I’d end up with a bullet in the head.”

Stiles snorts and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it down over his boxer briefs. “This looks weird, doesn’t it? And my dad won’t shoot you, he promised me.”

“I think you look fine. If you’re not comfortable going out like that, you can put a shirt on over it. Go see if Cora left a pair of leggings or something.  And I’m glad your father promised not to shoot me, I hope he sticks with it.” Peter finishes dressing and says, “Okay, we’ll hit the store real fast and go talk with your dad for a few, just to keep him up-to-date. Do you want me to make you breakfast or do you want to eat out?”

Stiles shrugs and says, “I’m not real hungry, maybe just toast? I’ll go see if Cora left anything behind that I can wear. I’ll need to get shoes, too, but I think I can wear what I have. Oh, and maybe you can help me with my hair, because …”

“Sure. You know I’m magic with hair,” Peter says, stopping to cup Stiles’ face with his hand, leaning in for a kiss. “See if there’s pants and then come eat some toast and then we’ll get you ready to go.”

 

The mall isn’t as bad as Stiles expected, mainly because Peter takes control and the trip doesn’t take too long. They park just outside the store and Stiles shouldn’t be surprised that Peter knows where everything is in Macy’s from blue jeans to sneakers to underwear. Peter picks out clothes, handing them to Stiles until his arms are full.

“Do you think I need this much stuff?” he asks, following Peter past racks of sweaters.

“Yes, there’s no point in doing wash every night, and while I don’t see this lasting more than a few days, I don’t think either of us wants to do this again.”

“You’re saying you don’t want to do more shopping? Are you okay?” Peter stops by the athletic wear and Stiles puts down the bags of clothes waiting for further instructions.

Peter raises an eyebrow and studies Stiles, taking a subtle sniff. “This is more chore than pleasure, since you aren’t enjoying it. You’re not, are you?”

Stiles shrugs and says, “No, but I like being with you, especially you in your element. So what now, Professor Higgins?”

“If I were Professor Higgins, you wouldn’t be wearing all that flannel,” Peter says, with an eyebrow raised. “Here’s what’s next, Stiles, and whatever you want is up to you. I thought that _if_ you want to wear a bra – and that’s an if – you might be more comfortable in a sports bra. Thoughts?”

“Huh, I guess I was thinking more of a black lace push up thingy.” Stiles smirks and pushes his arms together to get a bit of cleavage.

Peter pulls his claws out of the shirt he was holding at shoves it to the bottom of a stack on the table. “You should wear what you want to,” he says, eyes flashing blue.

Stiles grins and kisses Peter’s cheek. “Cool down, I’m messing with you. So how do we do this thing?”

Fortunately, a saleswoman comes over, with her toothy smile. “Hi, can I help you find anything?”

Peter looks at Stiles and raises an eyebrow. Finally Stiles sighs and says, “Sports bras?” He looks down and shrugs. “I don’t know what size I should be.”

“Okay,” she says, nodding. “What shirt size are you?”

Stiles replies, “Medium? Right?”

“Yes,” Peter says, grinning. “I think we’ll get four.”

“Four?”

“Four, remember we’re avoiding washing.”

The saleswoman chuckles and says, “Makes sense. So do you have an idea of what you want?”

“No jiggling,” Stiles says, bouncing on his toes.  “I don’t want them moving around.”

“Okay. And what’s her sport?” she asks Peter.

Stiles looks at Peter and shrugs. Peter tells the woman, “Running. She runs.”

“Yeah, I run. All the damn time,” Stiles says. “No bouncing when I run, please.”

“Understood. Let’s see what we’ve got,” she says, moving around displays and into the department.

 

A little over an hour later and they’re back in Peter’s car with the backseat full of bags. The plan is to head back to their apartment and change Stiles into clothes that feel more like him and fit.

“We go back and then what? Can we stop and get lunch or something? To take home?” Stiles asks, fidgeting in his seat. The seatbelt doesn’t fit right, it’s not quite in between his breasts and it’s rubbing on his neck.

“Sure, whatever you want. Then we go home, eat, and you should shower now and change clothes. Then we drop in on your father.” Peter turns off an exit that has Stiles’ favorite fast food restaurants. “I can call him while you’re in the shower and let him know we’re coming by.”

“I can call him,” Stiles says, pulling his phone out of his shirt pocket. “Taco truck?”

Peter nods and takes the phone before he can dial, leaving Stiles sputtering. “I think I should call, because you don’t sound like yourself; you sound like a young woman and I’m thinking your father might do better if he can see you. See that while you look different, you’re healthy and not in immediate danger.”

Stiles slumps down in his seat, putting the shoulder strap of his seatbelt behind his head. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

“Surprisingly enough, I’m not enjoying it.”

 

Lunch is a fast affair and Stiles takes his bags of clothes into the bedroom with him to shower and change. And while he does that, Peter calls Noah.

“Hi, Noah, it’s Peter. Stiles and I are hoping you’re around for a bit, we’d like to stop by.”

There’s silence on the phone for a moment until Noah says, “Where is Stiles? He’d normally be the one calling me. Is he okay?”

Peter sighs quietly; he was afraid they’d go here. “He’s uninjured. But there is an issue and we’d like to discuss it with you.”

“Put him on,” Noah orders.

“He’s in the shower. We can be over in about… 30 minutes.”

There’s a loud sigh and Noah says, “Can’t wait.”

 

“Is this going to take much longer?” Stiles asks, as Peter plays with his hair. “There’s not a lot to work with.”

“That’s why it’s taking so long, it would be easy if you had long, straight hair.”

“Well, I don’t and let’s not keep Dad waiting. I don’t think he’ll care if I’m runway ready.” Stiles checks his phone, reading the text from Scott saying everyone’s at the pack house. He sends back a text confirming they’ll be over later, after they visit his father. “God, I really do look like my sister or something.” He puts his phone in his pocket and says, “Scott wishes us luck with Dad. Oh by the way, why do I have girl’s jeans? There’s no pocket in these things, or not enough to put a damn phone in.”

“You can put it in your back pocket or we’ll get you a purse, your call,” Peter says, standing up and studying his handiwork. “You look great, let’s go so I can get shot.”

“He won’t shoot you, there’s a lot of paperwork when you discharge your weapon,” Stiles says, checking himself in the bathroom mirror. He’s in a navy v-neck t-shirt with a flannel shirt over it, jeans and red Converse.  Pretty much the norm, but everything’s just slightly off. The materials feel thinner and tighter, even though nothing’s actually tight.

Peter checks his own hair, then nudges Stiles out of the bathroom. “Good, because I’m not Harry Hart; one head shot and it’s over, love.”

“I’ll be sure he doesn’t kill you. And we’re totally seeing that movie this summer.”

“I know, looking forward to taking my boyfriend to it,” Peter says, grabbing the car keys from the table by the doorway. “Let’s go freak out your father.”

 

Noah opens the door, dressed in his uniform and Peter notes the gun at his hip. “Okay, what’s going on that you…” He steps back and lets them both in, everyone silent while Peter and Stiles sit next to each other on the couch.

“Hi, Dad,” Stiles says, voice cracking. “Funny story.”

“Not that funny,” Peter interjects, taking Stiles’ hand. “But nothing permanent and nothing dangerous or painful.”

“You’re not in pain, Stiles? How long do you think this’ll last?” Noah asks. He looks towards the cabinet in the dining room, where there’s a bottle of bourbon, but this probably isn’t the right time. If he drank every time something happened with the pack, he’d be drinking all the time.

“No, nothing hurts, it’s just…” he shrugs and shrinks into himself, looking down and trying to keep his breathing steady.

Noah stands, holding out his arms, and Stiles hurdles himself into a hug. Noah adjusts his hold, not used to the smaller, shorter body. Shorter and softer, unlike Stiles now or Stiles when he was a younger teen.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Stiles whimpers in to his father’s shoulder.

Noah pets the back of Stiles’ hair, glaring at Peter over his shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he answers.

After a couple of minutes, Stiles wipes his eyes and bushes off Noah’s shoulder where it’s damp with tears. “Sorry about that, Dad. It’s just…”

“Stress, I know. Don’t worry about it, I’ve had much worse things on my uniform.” Noah goes to the cabinet and pulls out the bottle and three glasses. He pours out generous shots and leans back in his recliner. “Okay, what happened and how is it fixed?”

“Have we ever discussed witches?” Stiles asks, taking a shaky breath as he sips his drink. “No? Okay, here’s what happened.”

 

After Noah has asked every question he can think of, Stiles goes upstairs. He says there’s something he wants to get out of his old room, although it’s an excuse, an escape, and all three men know it.

Noah stares at Peter, unable to stop himself from checking his hip for his gun. “Stiles is...” He takes a breath and says, “You said you’d watch out for him. That you know he’s human and you’d take care of him and be sure he doesn’t get hurt.” He holds up his hand, and continues, “And don’t tell me that he’s not hurt, because that’s bullshit and we both know it. I know this was a stress reaction, but he hasn’t… I think he hasn’t cried like that since his mother…”

“I know, and I’m sorry and if I could undo it, you know I would,” Peter says, running his hand through his hair. “I’d do anything I could to keep him safe. If there’s something he needs to know, something that would put him or put you in danger, I tell him. If it’s something he’s safer not knowing, I make sure he doesn’t. Noah, I’d walk in front of a bullet for him, I hope you know that. But I can’t put a filter on him and I can’t make him keep his fucking mouth shut. And honestly, I don’t know that I would if I could.”

Noah snorts, shaking his head as his shoulders slump. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s him. And maybe I thought that might be part of it, but, Peter…”

“I know, Noah. I know and it’ll be fixed. And I’ll continue to try to keep him out of trouble, but he’s a damn magnet for it.” Peter looks towards the staircase, listening to make sure Stiles is okay and then turns back to Noah. “He always worries he’s a disappointment to you. He worries about you and what you think of him and he worries about you being hurt and you not approving of his choices. Sometimes it seems like he doesn’t care, but it’s how he tries to hide it.”

“And I know that; he’s been that way since he was a kid. I don’t know how to change that – unless we go back in time, and please don’t tell me that’s possible.” Noah stands and looks at his watch. “I’m going to need to go into work soon. You want to call him down here?”

Peter shakes his head and says, “I’ll go get him.” He stops at the foot of the stairs and says, “We’ll call you as soon as he’s back to normal. 48 hours. 72 max.”

 

Stiles is sitting on his old bed, the one from childhood. There’s a faded bedspread on it, and overall the room looks empty and unused, smelling musty.

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching out his hand to Peter, pulling him to sit on the bed next to him. “Sorry about that, down there. I’m sure it didn’t help your conversation with my dad.”

“It’s fine. How are you, you doing okay?” Peter asks, rubbing his nose into Stiles’ hair, picking up his scent. There’s confusion and embarrassment and a smell of being entirely overwhelmed.

“Yeah, I’m okay, or as okay as I can be. I just really want this to be over.” He sighs, and leans into Peter, turning his head for a kiss. “Hey, is my dad gone?”

“Yes, he had to go to work. I told him we’d call and let him know when you’re back to yourself.” Peter turns for another kiss, enjoying Stiles’ scent softening, relaxing.

Stiles sighs, dropping his head against Peter’s shoulder. “What’s next? Back to Derek’s?”

Peter nods. “We need to make plans to get you back to normal and hopefully put some kind of control around Rowena.”

“Let’s do it then,” Stiles says, pushing himself off the bed. “Hey, you know what? I finally got a girl in my bedroom – unfortunately, it’s me, but high school me would totally count it.”

Peter smiles and pulls in him in for a hug and another quick kiss. “Do you want some alone time with yourself?”

“No, but thanks for asking. Time to see what the Scoobies have been up to.”

 

Back at Derek’s the pack’s spread out in the living room, getting organized to get regular Stiles back.

“Wow, you look…” Scott walks around Stiles, giving the back of his neck a sniff. “You still smell like you, but you look...”

“Yeah, I know, I look like my little sister,” Stiles says, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him to their regular seat. “Did you find the witch? Has she been home? She’s not gone, is she?”

“We didn’t see her around her house, so I don’t know where she is,” Isaac says, but he’s clearly paying more attention to Stiles than to what he’s saying. “You’re still in plaid. It’s like you found miniature versions of your regular clothes.”

“Your hair looks nice, so I’m going to assume that’s Peter’s doing.” Lydia raises an eyebrow at him and says, “You didn’t have enough influence to go with something a little nicer?”

Peter just shrugs and runs a hand over Stiles’ head. “It’s not my job to pick out his clothes. Well, not usually and not when he needs something comfortable and familiar. And temporary. Now let’s plan for meeting with the witch and stop acting like he’s an animal in the zoo.”

“How do we meet with her when we don’t know where she is,” Malia asks. She’s also staring at Stiles and sniffing at him, which annoys him on the best of days.

“She’s still here; she wouldn’t leave without seeing how we’re affected by her grand gesture. She’s here and at the same house, we didn’t scare her away,” Peter answers, looking around the room. Allison nods; maybe she’s read a bit about witches from her father’s library.

Erica snorts and says, “Peter, we watched her house and she didn’t show up. She’s not there.”

“Children,” Peter says, trading a look with Stiles and shaking his head. “She’s a witch, not a soccer mom. She can come and go as she pleases. It’s not like she’s going to pull into the driveway with her minivan. No offense, Derek.”

Derek shrugs and says, “None taken. Okay, so what’s the plan? Because I’m guessing you have one.”

Smiling smugly, Peter says, “Of course. First, we invite her to a meeting. We can leave a note on her front door and invite her to meet with us. Then we negotiate what we give her and what she gives to us. And we end with her turning back your emissary, Derek. It’s almost an afterthought, not our top priority.”

There’s some surprised mumbling and Stiles says, “Excuse me? It’s not the top priority? Since when mister guy-who-rides my-dick?”

“Huh, I wouldn’t have expected that,” Erica comments, smirking. “Guess you can’t judge a couple by the goatee.”

Peter smiles, taking Stiles’ hand. “We’re both very adaptable and experimentation is good for you. And in addition, Stiles has a major oral fixation that I benefit from quite a lot.”

“And that’s more than I ever needed to know,” Derek says, sighing and picking up a book from Peter’s library. “Little more about your plan? For the witch, just to be clear.”

“We invite her to the same area we met at before. We all know where it is and there’s a bit of woods behind it, so that’s easy. Let’s say…Thursday at one in the morning, since we know she’s active then. Derek, you’ll do the majority of the talking, you’re the alpha and that’s protocol. Scott should be there as your second. We’ll go over a script and discuss anything else that might be discussed so there’s no surprises. And everyone – _everyone_ – stays on the script.”

“Not just those two going, right? At least Stiles is coming so she can fix him?” Lydia asks. She’s sitting next to Allison on the couch, with Isaac crammed into the corner next to the huntress.

“Yes, Stiles is there as the emissary and mage. I’ll be there as his mate and the pack elder.” Peter thinks for a minute and looks around the room at the pack. “She mentioned the women in our pack in a positive way, so I think, Lydia, Erica, Kira and Malia should come as well.”

“Me?” Kira looks at Scott in alarm, grabbing his arm. “Really? I’m not sure what I could offer…”

“You don’t have to say anything, or we’ll have one thing for you to say,” Peter says, stopping her objections. “You’re there as a supernatural and female in our pack.”

“So what are we negotiating for, other than fixing Stiles?” Boyd asks. He checks on Erica and she seems fine, fully expecting to be there for the showdown with Rowena.  

“Remember this all started with trying to get her to leave. So we go back to that and discuss the terms in which she can stay,” Peter answers. “Not that we have a lot of ability to make her leave, but that’s nothing that needs to be said out loud, since we all know it. Now, does anyone have something to take notes on?”

Lydia, Allison and Stiles all pull out tablets or phones and look at Peter expectantly. “Okay, what happens first?” Stiles asks, looking to Peter. He may not be alpha, but he has the most experience with witches and clearly this is his show. Plus he and Stiles have the most to lose if it goes badly.

“We get the wording right for the letter inviting her to talk. Derek writes and signs it and we deliver it tonight.” He pauses and leans back, fingers steepled against his chest. “It would be good to give her something, some token. Something magic…”

“That’s traditional, if you’re requesting an audience,” Stiles tells the group. “It’s weird, but hey --  witches.”

“What’s good then?” Boyd asks Stiles, who is the expert on this part of the plan. “You have all the magic stuff, anything we can use?”

“She might like a wolf’s fang or claw, anyone want to volunteer?” Stiles asks, looking at the pack, who all refuse to meet his eyes. “Yeah, didn’t think so. What do I have at home…”

“If you think a fang or claw is needed, I’ll give you one,” Pete says, quietly. “We’ll figure out how.”

Stiles kisses his cheek and says, “Thanks, babe, but I just remembered I have a wendigo claw, that’ll be good.”

“Where did you get a wendigo claw?” Isaac asks.

“Uh, from the wendigo we killed a couple of months ago,” Stiles answers, not looking up from his phone where he’s typing notes.

Scott sits forward, glaring. “We killed him? I didn’t think we killed him! Derek, did you know that?”

Derek actually has their back this time, sighing as he answers. “Yes, Scott. We told you, you can’t run a wendigo out of town. The only thing to do is to kill it.” He looks at Stiles, ignoring Peter’s smirk. “So you have a claw and that’s a good gift for her? What comes next?”

“She meets us at one o’clock back in that park and then we discuss what she needs to agree to to stay and what we’ll do for her. Okay, take notes and we’ll get our proposal together and get Derek rehearsed,” Peter states, nodding at their alpha.

“I don’t remember Mom doing this,” Derek grumbles. But he sits forward and looks at his pack. “Okay, everyone, we need to work together on this. Let’s go.”

 

Several hours, a few pizzas and a couple bottles of wine later, they’re ready for the meeting.

“And the letter’s written?” Stiles asks the people remaining in the room, sprawled out on furniture or the floor.  

“Written and on the end of the counter,” Peter answers, patting his leg. “Ready for delivery.”

“We know, we know.” Isaac sighs, tipping back his wine glass to get the last drop. “Boyd and I follow you two to your apartment. You get the claw. We tape it to the letter,” he says, holding up a roll of scotch tape. “We drive to her house…”

“With the tape,” Boyd interjects.

Isaac nods at Boyd and continues, “With the tape. We tape it to her front door and we leave. We’ve got it; it’s not that hard, even for us.”

Erica points at Stiles and Peter, huddled together in the chair that’s unofficially theirs. “You guys need to chill. Maybe go home and enjoy your final hours of Stiles’ special adventure,” she says. Then she tilts her head and sniffs, eyebrow raised in a question. “What’s up? There’s something… something. You said you’re adventurous and adaptable. Aren’t you being adventurous and adaptable, Stiles?”

“We’ve been a little busy,” Peter says, taking Stiles’ hand. “And this isn’t Stiles’ body; he’s not completely comfortable with it.”

“You aren’t?” Allison asks, leaning into Isaac’s side. “You’ve both had straight relationships, so it shouldn’t be that weird, should it?”

“It’s a little weird,” Stiles answers, knowing he’s blushing and probably stinks of panic and whatever else right now. “Anyway, last night we just slept, you know, because it was ass o’clock when we got home?”

“So there’s tonight and tomorrow,” Erica says, smile like a shark. “You should go for it. Put on some pretty panties and let Peter take them off with his teeth.”

Derek sighs loudly from the kitchen, where he’s stacking the dishwasher. “I’m here, you know. You can all stop talking.”

Peter smirks at his favorite packmate. “You don’t need to be a girl to have pretty panties, Erica. But I’ll let Stiles make any decisions about how he wants to treat this body. After all, I’m all about consent.”

From upstairs, they hear Scott yell, “HA!”

“Now that I’m sane again,” Peter clarifies for the group, while Stiles covers his eyes and rubs his forehead.

“If I had a man’s body for a couple of days… Yeah, I’d be playing with it a lot.” Erica cackles and elbows Boyd in his side. “Just warning you, you’re along for the ride.”

He shrugs and says, “And if I ever get witched into a woman, back atcha’.”

“If I was a guy for a couple days, well first, everywhere I’d sit, I’d be sure my legs were spread as far as possible,” Allison says, demonstrating, pushing Isaac into the corner of the sofa.

“We don’t all do that,” he says, shoving her back and closing his legs a little.

Malia looks down at her legs where they’re spread apart, crowding Kira, who’s smushed in the corner of their sofa. “Is that a thing? Guys do that?”

“Never mind, dear daughter,” Peter tells her, grinning as she brings her knees together. “Isaac, what would you do?”

“If I were a woman for a few days…” Isaac thinks for a minute and then grins. “Well you wouldn’t see me because I’d be in my room, playing with my boobs. Looking at my boobs. Smelling my boobs.” He cups his hands over his chest and smiles at Allison.

Allison puts her arm around his shoulder tugging him towards her. “Wouldn’t you want company?”

“Maybe,” he answers, scenting her neck.

Erica raises an eyebrow and asks, “What do you think, Lydia?”

She’s been sitting in her own chair, as usual, looking at her phone. It looks like she’s ignoring everyone, but she never really does. “I think you can buy one of those online. So I’m really not interested.”

Allison smile and says, “First, we’re talking about a body where you can actually feel things; you could live the life of a man for a limited time. And second, I think I want to ask Jackson a few questions.”

Her smile is smug when she says, “Jackson tends to be a surprisingly closed mouthed about his sex life, so good luck with that.” Lydia looks at Stiles, pursing her lips. “Well, that’s not enough time to become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and certainly not enough time to become President. But I suppose I’d see what else is available and go with... paizuri.”

While Peter and Stiles both laugh, Allison keys into her pad, raising an eyebrow and passing it over to Isaac.

Lydia raises an eyebrow back and looks at Stiles. “But the point is, it’s a temporary thing, right? So it seems that in the name of science at least, you might want to experiment a little. Experience things from a different viewpoint.”

“Does Peter not want to? You did say something about how he’s mostly gay,” Kira asks, looking towards Malia as though she’ll get confirmation. “But it’s still you, so it’s kinda gay, right?”

Next to her, Malia sits forward and stares at her father. “Yeah, so how did you manage to even conceive me?”

“I think your mother may have been what moved me from 25% to 10%. It was truly traumatic for everyone involved.”

Stiles can’t smell him like the other wolves can, but he knows Peter and knows both his stolen child and stolen memories aren’t his favorite topics. “Malia, if you were a guy for a couple of days, what would you do?”

“Me? I’d do it with everyone. Girls, other guys. You know, just all of it.” She looks at Stiles and there’s a lot of Hale in her face. “You should just do it, Stiles. Get a lot of oral sex, that’s really good. Just…” she grabs her own hair and says, “Grab his head and hold him there until you’ve had enough. You know, like I used to do with you.”

“Lovely. My ex-girlfriend is explaining how her father should please me in bed. I think I’m done here,” Stiles says, standing and pulling Peter’s hand so he stands, too.

“Yes, you should all go so I can bleach my brain.” Derek walks to the front door and holds it open. “Leave now, please. Be here tomorrow night at ten and we’ll run through everything again.”

In spite of his crankiness, he says goodbye to everyone, making sure to trade scents with his pack. Boyd gets a hand around the back of his neck, while Erica gets a kiss on the cheek. Everyone gets a hug or a quick brush cheek to cheek. Peter and Stiles leave last, Stiles getting a full hug and kiss on the temple. “You’re very cute,” Derek says, grinning and waiting for the expected punch in the arm.

“He’ll be back to his usual handsome self on Thursday morning.” Peter puts his arm around Stiles to push him through the door before he gets a chance to punch their alpha. “We’ll see you tomorrow at ten, Derek,” he says and leans forward to brush his cheek against Derek’s neck.

That’s how Derek knows Peter’s actually nervous.

 

It’s another quiet car ride to the apartment and back home it’s not actually all that late, just past ten o’clock.

But it’s been an exhausting couple of days and after a few minutes in the bathroom, Peter’s in a loose Georgetown University t-shirt and under the covers.  “Are you coming, dear heart?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Stiles answers, standing by the door to their bedroom. He’s in one of Peter’s shirts, with the v-neck slipping down his shoulder, probably because he’s tugging the hem, keeping it at the top of his thighs.

“Are you okay? You seemed pretty confident about the plan earlier and now… well it’s not just how you smell, Stiles, but I know you and I recognize anxiety when I see it.” He sits up and folds back the cover on Stiles side of the bed. They’ve always set up the bedroom so that Peter can sleep closest to the window and Stiles sleeps on the left hand side. In some homes it’s taken a bit of maneuvering, but they’re both allowed their quirks.

Stiles snorts and shakes his head, taking a step towards the bed. “You do know me, more than anyone. And you know I trust you more than anyone, right?”

“I hope so, on both accounts.” Peter thinks he knows where this is going, but everything and anything will be Stiles’ decision and there’s no reason to be impatient. “Talk to me?”

“Would you want to, you know? If I wanted to? I mean, maybe everyone’s right and we should take advantage of this.” He still looks nervous, but there’s a flush to his cheeks and Peter can smell the start of interest.

“Stiles, there is no time that I don’t want you. No time that I would turn down the chance to have you naked, moaning under me or on top of me or next me. I hope you haven’t been denying what you want because you think you’ll upset me.” Peter cocks his head and takes an obvious sniff, so Stiles knows he’s not being sneaky.

“I’m going to go with the idea of I’d rather do something and regret it, than regret not doing it.” Stiles takes a breath and pulls the t-shirt over his head, leaving him naked as he scurries under the covers. “I think I’m more nervous than when we first slept together.”

“We don’t have to do anything, dear heart, I’ve told you.” Peter moves slowly and cups his hand on Stiles’ face. “But I’d like to kiss you, is that okay?”

Stiles nods and closes the distance between them, kissing gently at first and then the passionate, demanding kisses he’s used to. They stop after a minute and Stiles chuckles. “Well that was good. And I could do a little more of that.”

Peter looks as Stiles licks his pink, swollen lips. “Me, too. Let’s stick with red, yellow, green, okay? You’ll use them?” Peter asks, tilting Stiles’ head up to see his eyes.

“Yes, wolf, I’ll use them,” Stiles answers, giving Peter a quick kiss, letting the covers pool around his waist. “I will say, I would have pictured them bigger,” he says, looking down at his chest.

“They’re lovely, just like you and the perfect size.” Peter looks at Stiles’ tattoos, where the normally are, but slightly smaller to fit on his smaller frame. They’re over both shoulders and he knows they run down his spine. For more strength, more energy, more power and one that’s an anti-possession tattoo, just above his tail-bone. There’s two on his chest, now centered between his small breasts. There’s the triskelion on top, representing their pack. Below that is a revenge spiral, slightly morbid, but representing Peter specifically. Peter leans them back on to the bed, his hand holding Stiles’ head as they relax, lying next to each other. “Still green?”

“So green. Bright green.” Stiles pulls Peter down, tilting his head so Peter can scent him, kissing and nipping from his ear to his collar bone.

“Do you still like this?” Peter asks, biting Stiles just behind his ear, making him groan and his hips rise. “Guess so. How about this?” He slides his hand down, cupping a breast before he pinches a nipple, teasing it until it’s hard before moving to the other.

Stiles arches his shoulders, taking his turn to bite Peter’s neck, leaving a bruise that vanishes in a minute. “Your mouth, use your mouth.”

Peter hums contentedly, licking a path down Stiles’ chest, stopping to kiss a mole above his breast before licking and sucking on one nipple and then the other. He runs his hand down Stiles’ waist feeling the curve of his hip that’s not usually there and the softness in his belly. “Color?”

“Touch me or die.”

“I’m saying that’s green then.” There’s just a few wisps of hair on his belly and Peter smiles as he runs his tongue around Stiles' belly button, slipping his fingers down between his legs.

“Oh god, that’s… do that,” Stiles orders, lifting his hips to get more of anything, everything.

Peter dips his fingers into the wetness, and fingers Stiles’ clit, experimenting to see what gets more noise, what makes him pant more as he tries to thrust into Peter’s hand. “You’re so wet, you’re perfect.”

Stiles grabs Peter’s wrist, his other hand grabbing the sheets. “There, there, do that.” His hips leave the bed as he moans his way through his climax. “Oh, that was good. But that was fast though, I wanted to wait.”

“Don’t worry, dear heart,” Peter says, kissing Stiles’ thighs, “we’re only getting started.”

 

Stiles doesn’t have to hold Peter’s head down. He’s every bit as enthusiastic with Stiles’ new cunt as he is with his cock. After getting the go ahead, he parts Stiles’ folds with fingers and tongue, sucking his clit, and keeping two fingers inside him, moving until he finds the spot inside that makes him gasp and come again and again.

“Okay, okay, you gotta stop,” Stiles gasps, finally, pushing Peter’s shoulder until he stops and sits up.

Peter wipes his face on his arm, smirking and panting himself.

“Asshole,” Stiles says, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him into a sloppy kiss. “Hmm, I taste pretty good. Different, but good, right?”

“I think so.” Peter collapses next to him, pulling Stiles onto his side. “I hope that was sufficient.”

“Good effort, thanks. Hey,” he asks, moving his hand down Peter’s back, “anything I can do for you?”

“I’m good, took care of myself since you were too busy moaning like a porn star.”

“I’m going to assume you’re complimenting yourself there,” Stiles answers, stretching and burying his face in Peter’s neck, inhaling his scent and licking the dampness there. “Too bad you finished, I was thinking maybe we could have some heterosexual intercourse.”

“First, werewolf, so you won’t have to wait long,” Peter says, turning his head so Stiles has more room. Having someone he loves and trusts biting on his neck is relaxing in a way he never expected. “Also, I don’t think anything we do in bed would not be queer. Third, who cares either way?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles mutters, a bite of Peter’s shoulder in his mouth. “If I suck your dick, will you get hard again and fuck me?”

Peter rolls on top of Stiles rubbing his cock against Stiles’ thigh. “Nice to see you’re back to your bossy self.”

“Nice to see your werewolf ability isn’t put off by my …” Stiles says, and his scent turns vinegary.

“Don’t be silly,” Peter says, turning his boy’s head to kiss him again. “There is no part of you, at any time, I’d ever reject. You’re mine, I’ve told you that. Now red, yellow, green?”

Stiles flips them over, knowing it’s only because Peter lets him. “Green! You know I like the cowboy. I just need to figure out how to…”

“I think it’s the same as usual, more or less,” Peter says, hands on Stiles’ hips. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’ve got it,” he answers and then stops, jaw dropped. “Condoms? Do we have condoms?”

Peter raises an eyebrow, looking between them at his cock erect against the V between Stiles’ legs. “Have we ever had condoms? I’ve been going under the theory that we’re exclusive…”

“Pregnancy, asshole.” Stiles stays above him, hips just slightly moving enough that Peter’s eyes close.

“You’ll be back to your male self tomorrow, remember? No womb, no baby,” Peter answers, eyes flashing bright blue. “Can we do this sometime before then? Maybe?”

“Green!” Stiles calls, sinking down on Peter’s erection. “Oh that’s different.”

“Good?”

Stiles rocks slightly and then raises himself up before dropping back down. “Good. I just can’t figure out what’s best. How should I do this?”

Peter puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss, muttering, “Try this.”

“Oh! Yeah that’s …” He stops talking and pushes against Peter, small noises knocked out of him. Hands on either side of Peter’s head, he shuts his eyes and matches his thrusts to Peter’s.

“So pretty,” Peter croons taking a nipple into his mouth and biting softly, switching from one to the other while Stiles whimpers, arms shaking. “Can you come, darling? Like that? Should I touch you?”

His answer is Stiles stiffening over him, teeth clenched as he shakes his way through another orgasm with Peter following shortly.

Afterwards, they move apart, and both get their breath back. Peter listens and checks Stiles’ scent to be sure he’s as fine with this as he says he is. Being sure there’s no remorse. “You good? Time out and go again?”

“No, I think I’m done, thanks.” Stiles reaches over the side of the bed and uses a t-shirt from the floor to wipe his face and chest. “Am I imagining things or is this…messier than when it’s really me?”

“Not sure,” Peter says shrugging, and rolling to face Stiles. “Sex is always messy and sweaty and probably ridiculous if you think about it too much.”

“Suppose so.” He falls silent and Peter thinks he may be falling asleep, when he says, “So do you like this body? Is it good? Do you… do you like it better than my regular body?”

Peter snorts, and shakes his head. “My sweet, sweet moron. My idiot love. My heart. What do I need to say to make you understand that it’s not your shell that keeps us together?  It’s here,” he says, touching Stiles’ forehead and then rests his hand over Stiles’ heart.  “And here. Your fearlessness, your craftiness, your flexible moral code. When you’re back to you or if you’re never back to you or if you’re something else entirely, I’ll still worship you as I do now. On my knees.”

“You love me.” There’s the same wonder on his face that was there the first time Peter said “I love you.”

It makes Peter want to find who left his lover with such self-doubt so he can rip them limb from limb. Slowly. “And I always will.”

“Always? So when I’m old and wrinkly?” he asks, grinning with his smell changing to something brighter and sugary.

“Of course.”

“If I get cursed and end up a Ken doll with no anything below?”

“I would still love you and figure out some way to please you.”

“If I were a goat?”

“I would love you if you were a goat. I would love you on a boat.” He kisses Stiles nose, sniffing the sweet scent that’s come back. “Shower, my darling?”

“You know Scott hates it when you use pet names for me; he thinks you’re being sarcastic or something.  
And I know you just want to get me covered with soap and feel me up,” he says, but sits up, rubbing his neck and grinning.

“You’ve discovered my devious plan. Plus you’ve given me such a gift with that bit of knowledge.” Peter pulls him into a hug, face against Stiles’ neck. “Shower and maybe new sheets?”

Stiles waits a few seconds and pulls away, taking Peter’s hand to pull him to the bathroom. “Eh, we’ll just need to remake the bed in the morning anyway.”

“I suspect there’s several showers in our future.”

 

Stiles enters the pack house first, keeping hold of Peter’s hand.

“Dude! Couldn’t you shower?” Scott backs away from them, shaking his head as Erica laughs.

“Guess you decided to try things out?” she asks, in between bites of a sandwich. Subway, but when you need fuel and you’re too worried to care about what you’re eating, it’s good enough.

Stiles pulls his hand through his hair, still surprised that it’s longer than it’s supposed to be. “Yeah, well, you know I can’t ignore weird things. I think that’s probably how all this started.”

“And we have showered. Repeatedly. Isn’t that right, sugar buns?” Peter says and somehow that comes out as smug. Probably because it’s Peter and it’s meant to.

The pack’s back at Derek’s at the assigned time. Time for one more rehearsal, and a little time to be together acting like a pack before they meet with the witch. Food in hand, Peter takes the lead, grilling everyone on where they’ll stand, what they’ll say, and checks to make sure everyone’s clothes are appropriate.

“I did a little research. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I found a book – an old book – that talks about Rowena the Sorcerer, the mother of Satan.” Peter looks for reactions around the room. Puzzlement, worry, doubt. And heavy on the worry.

“What do you think it means?” Derek asks, knowing his uncle almost always knows more than he’s saying.

“I honestly have no idea,” he answers truthfully. “I do know one thing though; she’s much older and probably more powerful than we ever thought.”

When everyone’s about as ready as they can be – and Peter’s even made everyone brush their teeth – there’s nothing to do but sit and wait until it’s time to get to their meeting spot.

“Hey, can I talk with you a minute?” Scott asks, cornering Stiles in the kitchen.

Stiles looks around, nodding towards the living room next door, where half the pack’s sitting, talking or on phones. “Not really privately, but I’m game if you are.”

“I just want to be sure…” He steps closer to Stiles and sniffs his neck, making Stiles pull back. “Sorry man, but you were really freaked out before about the whole… and now you’re having sex with Peter? I thought you didn’t like this body?”

“I don’t want to keep it, that’s for sure. But, yeah, I saw an opportunity and I took it. And it’s okay because it’s Peter. Believe me, he doesn’t do anything I don’t agree to, ever. He’s very careful about that,” Stiles says, patting Scott’s arm and giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Consent!” Peter calls from the other room. He’s always aware where Stiles is and isn’t above listening in to be sure he’s okay. Especially now when things are so strange and tense.

“Yeah, that’s my guy.”

Stiles grins and is about to move around Scott when he stops him, hand on his shoulder. Scott looks towards the other room and moves a step closer. “Okay, also… today you seem… you smell hurt or something. Not like really injured hurt, but there’s something that’s off.”

Sighing, Stiles pulls at the front of his shirt, debating what to say. Well, Scott asked. “I figured I wouldn’t wear a bra because assuming I’m going to go back to muscley, manly Stiles and it would be too small. So I put on a tank top under my shirt and I shouldn’t have gone with a ribbed one because my nipples are tender and this shirt was a bad idea. Does that help?”

Scott nods quickly and takes a step away, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, thanks. Glad you’re okay and sorry I asked.”

“And also, it’s like my vagina is sore. Or maybe my whole vulva. Is that the right word? You know, Scott, I can get my ass just pounded and it’s fine, but this was new and maybe it’s because we did it like five times, but I am kinda sore,” he says, grinning. He’s no wolf, but he can smell Scott’s distress anyway.

“That happens,” Erica calls out from the other room. “You know what really hurts is getting your cervix rammed. Not fun.” Derek’s tried to teach the pack about personal boundaries and letting people have privacy, but like many of his lessons, it’s largely ignored.

“Be sure you drink a lot of water and try some cranberry juice; you don’t want to get a bladder infection,” Lydia says, nodding to the other women. “They don’t call it honeymoon cystitis for nothing.”

“Oh yeah, that’s horrible. You don’t want that,” Allison says, shaking her head. “I thought I was going to die every time I peed.”

From somewhere upstairs, Derek calls out, “Inside voices! I don’t need to know this! Any of this!”

“Yeah, well I’m glad you’re okay, but you know I have to ask,” Scott says, patting Stiles’ on the shoulder. “I mean it’s Peter.”

Stiles looks at him for a long moment, with a glare that could rival any of the Hales. “Yes, it’s Peter. My partner, Peter. My extremely significant other, whom I trust with my life.”

Scott manages to get out, “Yes, but it’s Peter…” before Stiles reaches out and puts just three fingers on his chest, sending Scott flying across the room, sliding down the wall as a picture falls off the wall.  

“God dammit, can’t I have one home with no holes in the wall?” Derek asks, as he stalks back into the room, having changed clothes as instructed.

Stiles walks over to Derek, and it’s still so odd, not looking at him in the eyes. “Derek, if I wanted Scott to go _through_ the wall he would have gone _through_ the wall.” He checks his watch, straightens his shoulders and says, “I think it’s time. Let’s go.”

 

When the pack enters the clearing, it’s a different procession than normal. If their entire pack was together, Erica, and Boyd might enter in front of Derek, with Peter and Scott flanking him.  Allison (if she’s there), Lydia and Kira would be behind Derek and after them would be Stiles with Malia and Isaac guarding the rear.

With some pack missing and an entirely different agenda, Scott’s in the front with Derek following. The girls are next with Peter and Stiles in the back. It’s not completely comfortable for any of them, feeling like they aren’t in the best place to protect each other and their alpha.

 

Rowena is waiting for them, sitting on a log that Derek is pretty sure was an upright tree the last time he was here. Her dress is dark blue and shiny, spread out around her like she’s waiting for a photo shoot.

There’s another log, slightly smaller across from her; it was also upright yesterday. Derek nods at her as the pack stands behind him in a semi-circle. He sits at the larger end of the log, and because he’s taller than Rowena, he’s sitting just slightly below her – not too much according to Peter’s rules, so this is a good start.

“Rowena, thank you for meeting with us to discuss the requirements to allow you to remain in Beacon County.”

“Requirements? Allow me?” She smirks and crosses her arms over her substantial bosom. “Please, Alpha Hale, do continue.”

“This is for the safety of all of us. Yes, there is a mix of supernaturals here, and with rules, we all stay safe; we fly under most human’s radar,” Derek says and watches her reactions. So far, she’s still with him. “You seem to be pretty comfortable in the house you’re in; you can stay there, but you can’t bring a coven in. It’s too noticeable.”

“Well, I haven’t felt the need for a coven for a while now. I work best alone,” she says, with a slight shrug. “That’s acceptable, I suppose.”

Derek allows himself a small smile; she's willing to negotiate. “We know you need items from the preserve, so you’re allowed in, no closer than a mile away from the pack house. Except for the week before the full moon, when you shouldn’t be in the preserve at all.”

She snorts, raising an eyebrow. “There are a lot of spells that work best during the full moon.”

“The moon’s full all over the county. If you need help finding a place for a ritual, I’m sure we can assist you.” He flashes his eyes and lets his fangs drop. “Remember, there’s a pack of wolves in the preserve.”

“Fine,” she says, sighing loudly. “What else?”

“No killing pets. Killing pets gets noticed.”

“And what if I need supplies? Am I to order them on-line?” she sneers.

Derek takes a breath, making himself stop before responding. “The preserve has plenty of animals. Rabbits, owls, crows. I’m sure you’ll find most of what you’re looking for there.”

“And I’m just going to call them to me?”

“If you need something, I’m sure we can help; we can work out a trade,” Scott answers, exactly as rehearsed with Peter’s script.

“And cats? There are times that animals considered pets are needed,” she says, addressing Scott as much as Derek.

“I work at a vet’s office, I should be able to get you some blood. On occasion.” He wasn’t thrilled with this offer, but agreed to it if she asked, and not to offer it if she didn’t.

Rowena studies him for a minute. “And if I need more than what you offer?”

It’s Lydia’s turn to answer, “Of course you are much more powerful with your magic, but Stiles said he hasn’t seen spells that require more than a couple of drops or at the most a tablespoon of an animal’s blood. In the spells he’s seen.”

She turns to the banshee and studies her as well; it seems friendlier than her appraisal of Scott. “And if I need a skull?” she asks Lydia.

“I’ll unbury something and get it for you,” Peter tells her. It’s about his only line during this negotiation; he and Stiles aren’t hiding from her, it’s just Derek’s show.

Rowena looks at him, and grins. “Oh, yes, Mr. Hale, you’d know a bit about being buried, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles keeps a straight face as Peter’s claws scratch at his hand. He tries to send soothing thoughts and hope Peter will stay calm.

Peter takes a breath and answers, “Unfortunately, I do. And I know where animal cemeteries are in neighboring cities. If you need a skull or two, I’m sure we can work it out.”

Rowena nods and turns back to Derek, dismissing the other betas. “And if I need something bigger?”

“Again, it’s a matter of not attracting attention. There’s plenty of deer in the preserve, but if they all start vanishing, it will be noticed. One or two a year is expected,” Derek says and then smiles at his pack around him. “We do a hunt every year, for the solstice festival. The pack works together to take down a deer. If for some reason, you need one, I’m sure we can work something out for you.”

“Or maybe you just need parts?” Lydia says, looking at the witch. “Heart and liver and things. I’m told that’s what you might need?”

“Perhaps,” Rowena answers, nodding. “Is that everything?”

“No hurting the pack, obviously. No killing anyone in the county,” Derek tells her, letting his eyes flash quickly. Obviously these things are non-negotiable.

She scoffs, leaning forward towards him. “No hurting your pack; I suppose I can live with that. But how do I know that someone in the county doesn’t need to be killed? And I should just let it go?”

“Nothing draws attention as much as the death of a human. That attracts police attention and it can attract hunters. I’m sure none of us want that,” Derek tells her firmly, knowing his pack is behind him, nodding or at least looking serious.

She’s totally unimpressed and snorts, “Police? I haven’t found them to be too much trouble in a hundred years.”

“As you know, Stiles’ father is the county sheriff; he’s very aware of the supernatural, and whenever there’s a death, we’re his first thought.” Derek doesn’t mention Noah’s asking for help, but that’s details. “And don’t forget hunters.”

“Hmm. I notice you didn’t bring your pet hunter,” she says, looking at the pack. “I think you of all people wouldn’t let one so close.”

“We go by keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Derek tells her, not rising to her bait. This was a sore point with Scott, of course, but it’s the answer she needs.

She takes a minute to look at the girls, standing behind Derek. “I see you brought the women of your pack. Clever, Wolf.”

“As you said, the supernatural world isn’t always kind to women. So we do understand why you’d want to stay here.” Derek pauses, and raises an eyebrow. “And of course, you’ll put my emissary back as he was.”

Rowena turns to Stiles, and grins. “So what do you think, little spark? Enjoy yourself?”

Stiles takes a breath, reciting what Peter’s scripted. “I apologize, ma’am. In just this short time I learned that it’s not easy being a woman. And I’m sure I didn’t experience anything near what you go through daily.” He squeezes Peter’s hand as he goes off script. “Clerks talk to Peter and not to me. Wait staff look to Peter for what I want to eat and for money, because apparently I’m not supposed to have any.” He sighs and says, “I learned a lot.”

“It sounds like you did. Of course, having power helps, although they probably make you hold it in.” She looks at him up and down, steepling her index fingers as she studies him. “It does seem I provided you with an important lesson and I trust you’ll be more understanding and patient with your female pack mates and women in general. I’d say… I’d say you owe me a thank you for this.”

Stiles’ grip tightens, it would be painful if Peter weren’t a werewolf. Stiles’ scent turns to anger, the smell of plastic burning, so strong, Erica turns her head away.

But he swallows hard and nods slightly. “Yes, thank you, Rowena. This was a valuable lesson,” he says, voice and face kept carefully blank.

Rowena’s grin is smug and she lifts her head before saying, “Well, you’re welcome, little spark. Is there anything else to discuss, Alpha Hale?”

Derek glances behind him and Stiles is back to being Stiles, still gripping Peter’s hand. The rest of the pack is trying to stay neutral as they discussed, although their scents are much less worried. “Last thing is there’s a group of pixies in the preserve; they’ve been there for years and they’re allowed to stay. No disturbing them or trying to get them to leave.” Peter said Stiles shouldn’t be the last thing or it becomes most important, which could give her a reason to not change him back – or to do something else. The pixies seem to be a good end note.

“Pixies?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “You allow pixies, but act like _my_ presence will be a problem? They’re nothing but vermin.”

“They’ve been in the preserve since before my grandparents were here and we ignore each other. I think it’s best for everyone we keep it that way. Agreed?” Derek asks, smiling slightly. He has to agree with her opinion though --  they are annoying little beings.

She sighs as though all of this is the most inconvenient thing ever. “I suppose. You’ll have to tell me where they are so I can avoid them. Now is _that_ everything?”

“Yes, that’s everything,” Derek says, remaining seated, voice steady. “Do you have any questions or concerns?”

The witch thinks for a moment, eyes turned to the sky. “I suppose I can live with this. It doesn’t seem too unreasonable. I agree to your offer, Alpha Hale.”

He nods and says the formal words, ones Peter reminded him he’d learned from his mother. “I agree and you agree. We have a contract.”

She nods her head once and is gone.

 

One month later –

Stiles puts his head on the table, pushing away his half-finished coffee. “Ugh, I’m not sure what this is, but I’m really tired of it.”

“How long have you been sick?” Peter asks, sliding a plate of lightly buttered toast towards him, sniffing him quietly.

“A week or so? I thought it was from too much to drink – although I don’t think I’ve had more than a glass of wine or two. But it’s been more than once, you know?”

Peter cocks his head and studies his mate, who keeps his eyes closed as he reaches for the toast. “All day? Any other symptoms?”

“I’m exhausted, so I thought it’s the flu,” he answers, shoving some of the bread into his mouth. “But I’m never quite out, just kind of crappy all day. And the throwing up is a morning thing; I’m sick in the morning, it’s like…”  He lifts his head and glares at Peter. “Oh, you fucking have to be kidding me.”

“Perhaps you should finish your toast and take a shower and we’ll go visit Deaton,” Peter says, trying not to grin.

“You won’t look so happy when I rip your balls off.” Stiles shoves the rest of the slice of bread into his mouth, gripping the table as he stands up. “If I’m knocked up, I don’t know how it’s getting out of there, but you are going to be on constant diaper duty.”

“Let’s not jump the gun, dear heart. Go shower and I’ll make a couple of phone calls.”


	2. Nine months and a couple of weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is pregnant and getting ready to add to the family.

Two months

Stiles stands in front of Peter and clears his throat. “Okay, come on. We’re going to go talk with my dad today.”

Peter glances up over his book and raises an eyebrow. “Enjoy yourself, darling, say hello to him for me.”

“Nope. Nope, you’re coming with me, we did this together, so we’re doing all of it together, including telling my dad.”

Peter gives a tired sigh and sets down his book. “Are you sure we need to do this?”

“Well, I think he’s gonna notice,” Stiles says, rubbing his hands on his t-shirt over his still flat stomach. “If we leave now, we should be able to get there with about fifteen minutes before he has to go on a shift. Just enough time to tell him he’s going to be a grandad and then we’re out of there.”

With a giant eyeroll, Peter gets up and picks up his car keys, checking to be sure his phone’s in his pocket. “This sounds like fun, I haven’t had a gun to my head in the last couple of years.”

“You’re so dramatic. When has my father put a gun to your head?” Stiles snorts, shaking his head as they head out to Peter’s car.

“The last time was when you told him we were moving in together.” Peter pulls out of the parking lot to make the short trip to Stiles’ boyhood home, where his father still lives.

“Really? I didn’t know that; I knew he threatened you when he found out we were dating.”

“Maybe because he didn’t find out about the dating until after he knew about the sex. First hand,” Peter says, turning the final corner and pulling in front of the Sheriff’s house.

“Taught him to knock, didn’t it?” Stiles says, waiting for Peter so he can take his hand and walk up to the house.

 

“Hi, Dad! Daddy. Daddio. Dadders,” Stiles throws himself into his corner of the couch. “Hey, Dad, how’re you?”

Noah looks from Stiles to Peter as they sit next to each other on the couch. “What happened, Stiles?”

“Happened? What do you mean?” He looks over at Peter and shrugs.

“So brave when you’re at home,” Peter whispers loudly. “Noah, can we have a few minutes before you need to go to work?”

Noah sits down in his chair, leaning back until the foot rest comes up. “I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going on.”

Stiles exhales loudly and glances at Peter, hoping for support. “Okay, here’s the thing. Do you remember that time a little bit ago when that witch gave me lady parts?”

“Vaguely,” Noah answers raising an eyebrow. “I can’t go to work with alcohol on my breath and I have a feeling I’m going to regret that. Go on.”

Grabbing Peter’s hand, Stiles leans forward and says, “Okay, so I was a kinda like a woman for a while and I’m not now, but when I was temporarily a magic girl – woman – apparently I got pregnant. So, hey, congratulations, you’re going to be a grandpa!”

Silence. Noah says nothing and stares at them while Peter surreptitiously checks to be sure his gun isn’t in its holster.

“Dad?” Stiles checks on his father, noting the vein pulsing in his temple. “Comments?”

Noah looks at Peter and bares his teeth as well as any wolf. “My son was under a spell and you took advantage of him? I saw him, he was terrified by what happened and you did what – comforted him by having sex with him when he was like that?”

Stiles throws an arm across Peter, as though it’ll protect him. “Dad! Oh my god, no, it wasn’t like that. Consensual. Enthusiastic consent.” He shrugs and says, “I was freaked out at first, but after like a couple of days, I figured… why not?”

Shaking his head, Noah looks at Stiles, glancing at his crotch and then back up. “Of course, of course you did. So when that witch turned you back, she didn’t turn you all the way back?”

“I’m all guy on the outside, everything’s back to how it was.” Stiles crosses his legs and takes a breath. “But I guess she thought it’d be funny to not change all the insides and so now… It’s like she removed the headstones, but left the bodies and there’s apparently a baby.”

“Nice one,” Peter mumbles.

“What? And apparently? So maybe not?” Noah asks with a bit of hope in his voice.

Stiles deflates and says, “Sorry, Poltergeist reference. You know when Craig T. Nelson finds out that Cuesta Verdes was built and on a cemetery and finds out…”

“Focus,” Peter mutters.

“Yeah, right, that’s not important. And I think it’s there. She’s there. I peed on like a dozen sticks and we went to Deaton a couple of weeks ago and he did an ultra sound. And the baby’s too small to see yet, but there’s a uterus in there.” He rubs a hand on his stomach, gripping Peter’s hand with the other. “No ovaries and no escape route, but a uterus and…”

“We’ll do another ultrasound soon and should be able to see the baby,” Peter says, mostly to Stiles who was worried when they saw Deaton; he’s been studying online guides to pregnancy and is anxious to see and hear the baby’s heartbeat.

“So your obstetrician is going to be a veterinarian?” Noah sighs again, slumping in his chair. He checks his watch and says, “Let me text Parrish that I’ll be a few minutes late. ‘Cause we’re not done here.”

While Stiles watches his father on his phone, Peter nuzzles against his temple, trying to wipe out the smell of anxiety, and ignoring Noah’s glare.

When Noah’s done, Peter rests a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and says, “We don’t have all the details worked out yet, Noah, but we’re assuming it’ll be a c-section. There are doctors – actual physicians – who are aware of the supernatural and we’ll go that route. It’s still a little ways off and we want to get through the first few months and then tell people.”

“You’re supposed to take care of him, not put him in danger,” Noah mutters. “You’re not worried?”

“I’m not in danger!” Stiles shakes his head, looking at Peter, scent full of frustration. “I mean I was totally freaked out, but… we’ve talked about having a family, about adopting or maybe using a surrogate. This isn’t what we thought we’d do, but I _am_ magic and it’s… it’s a child from both of us.”

“If you’re asking if I’m worried, I am, a bit.” Peter says, raising an eyebrow at both father and son. “But Stiles wants to do this and I’m one hundred percent behind whatever he wants.”

Stiles jerks away, turning to Peter. “What do you mean _I want_ to do this? _We_ want this, right?”

“I want what you want,” he says. “Dear heart, you have the uterus, so ultimately it’s your decision. My job is to support your decision.” He sees and smells Stiles’ anger and adds, “Of course, I’d be delighted with a child, as you said, we’ve talked about it. But if you don’t want to do this – and you have to admit, it is outside the norm – I’d support that decision as well.”

“How would I not do this? It’s a child from both of us, Peter. That’s perfect.” He stands and looks at Peter, shaking his head. “I mean, it’s a baby, right? I’ll get all fat and eat a ton and you’ll worry and bring me food. And yeah, I’ll have a cesarean and it’ll be fine, people do that every day. And our daughter? She’ll be adorable and her first word will be Daddy and we’ll argue over who she’s talking to. She’ll go to kindergarten and we’ll have to go in for parent conferences because she’s bossy and takes things from other kids. And she’ll have friends and go to birthday parties and get into petty fights with other girls.”

He sits, taking both of Peter’s hands in his, looking into his mate’s eyes. “When she’s twelve or whatever, we’ll say ‘Yippee, you’re a human!’ or ‘Yippee, you’re a werewolf!’ and either one will be okay, you know? And she’ll have a sweet sixteen party and roll her eyes over how we both take it too seriously, but she’ll love the used car she gets as a present. And when she graduates high school, we’ll go to the ceremony and her friends will say how they heard all of us cheering, because of course the whole pack’ll be there. And we’ll take her to her college and I’ll cry and you’ll try not to, but your eyes will be a little glassy.” He turns to his father and points, “You’ll cry, too, cause it’s your only granddaughter.”

Peter smile is a little wistful and a little hopeful. “When she gets the boyfriend – or girlfriend – who seems like they’ll stay around, I get to give them the shovel speech. Kind of like the one your father gave me.”

Noah snorts, shaking his head, and looks away, blinking rapidly.

“And she’ll probably yell at you because that’s not at all acceptable,” Stiles adds, shooting a look to his father. “Although she’ll kiss you later and say thank you for caring.”

“She’ll have a joining ceremony in the preserve with the whole pack there,” Peter says, la little glassy eyed himself. “You won’t officiate, we’ll have another emissary, because you’ll be too busy fussing over everything and crying.”

“Like you won’t be.” Stiles rests his head on Peter’s shoulder. “You want her, right? Our daughter?”

“What if it’s a boy?” Peter asks, kissing Stiles’ temple. “Could be, you know.”

Stiles chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Pretty much the same things, but maybe there’s a lacrosse game or two in there – or basketball. Not that our daughter wouldn’t be able to do that, too.”

Noah exhales loudly and says, “Two things, please? Can you work on the doctor thing sooner rather than later? Get that part set up as soon as you can, get regular visits going and all that? I think that would make everyone feel more comfortable with this.”

Peter and Stiles both nod; it’s not an unreasonable request and Peter will certainly feel better about this whole thing when the doctor is settled.

“And what else?” Stiles asks, because knowing his father, it could be the challenge.

“You two need to have whatever ceremony you need, in the preserve or otherwise. So when the baby’s born, there’s a marriage certificate and you can tell people you adopted or had a surrogate or whatever story you want.” Noah sits back, smug smile on his face. “Make my son an honest man, Peter.”

Peter smiles, flashing his eyes at Stiles. “You heard the man. You have to marry me.”

“You’re both too tricky for me,” Stiles says, taking Peter’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “You get to your doctor contacts and I’ll start researching the wedding. Because it’ll be a traditional pack wedding.”

“It’s not going to be weird is it? I don’t have to see anyone naked, do I?” Noah asks, checking his phone as it beeps with a text message.

“I certainly hope not,” Stiles answers, standing and moving towards his father for a hug. “Go to work, we’ll update you shortly.”

“Oh kid.” Noah sighs, hugging him tightly. “You’ll be the death of me, but I love you.”

“Love you too, Pops.”

 

Five months

“Holy crap, can you believe this?” Scott’s almost more excited than Stiles is as he looks around the clearing, at their pack and the visitors gathered there. “This is so cool; thanks for letting me be the best man – kind of.”

“Yeah, this isn’t quite what we talked about, is it? But you are always my best bro-man.” Stiles punches Scott in the arm, lightly, because otherwise he’d hurt his hand. “And of course, I don’t think we planned this,” he says, rubbing a hand on his round belly. It’s not huge, not yet, but definitely looks like more than a beer belly.

“No. No, I’m pretty sure that was not discussed,” Scott says and smiles, rubbing Stiles’ belly. The wolves have been able to hear the baby’s heart beat for weeks now, but they still can’t feel her kicking. “Is she awake? Does she know what’s going on?”

Stiles snorts and shakes his head. “Man, I don’t know. Yes, she’s awake, she’s been rolling over all afternoon. I think she needs a nap,” he says, yawning himself.

“Hey, none of that,” Allison says, coming over and sliding an arm around Stiles’ shoulder. “You’re the groom – or one of the grooms, so you have to at least pretend to be awake.”

“I am awake, or normally I’d be awake at this time, even without coffee. I guess I just didn’t sleep a lot last night, thinking about this and hoping everything would go right.” He looks around the clearing, a small platform with a table at the center where they’ll stand. Chairs ring it for those who want to sit. Candles in the center and strings of twinkling, white lights in the trees. “It’s pretty, right? It looks good?”

“It’s beautiful,” Allison assures him. “So hey, who is the guy in the robe talking with Derek? He keeps looking at me.”

Stiles looks around her and smiles. “Darryl Sandoval, emissary of the Sandoval pack from Washington. I think they’re around Mt. Rainier. He’s very human; and his brother, Michael, who is not human, is their alpha. They’ve been allies with the Hales since… Peter’s grandfather, I think. Darryl’s doing the ceremony.”

“Is he bugging you? Do I need to talk with him?” Scott looks over his shoulder at the man, who’s smiling and talking with Derek and Michael.

Allison rolls her eyes along with Stiles. “No, thank you, Scott. I think I can handle a little flirting from a cute man.”

Scott looks at the emissary again, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “Flirting? Why would you flirt with him, he lives too far away for you to date.”

“I’m not thinking of dating him, Scott. I’m just having a fun evening, flirting with a cute human.” She leans over and kisses Stiles’ cheek and then Scott’s. “This is fun, remember? Who doesn’t like a wedding?” she asks, and then wanders off, snagging two glasses of champagne as she makes her way towards Darryl.

“You need to chill, Scott, you’re not even dating Allison any more,” Stiles says, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder, turning him away from Allison.

“Yes, you should pay attention to your current girlfriend, Scott.” Melissa gives her son a stern look and says, “There’s quite a few attractive young men here and you shouldn’t ignore Kira; other people aren’t.”

“They aren’t? Who?” Scott asks, swiveling around to try to find she’s sipping a drink with an attractive, slightly older man. “Who’s that she’s talking with?”

Stiles looks over and says, “That’s my obstetrician, Dr. Wong. He’s with a pack from Chico. And oh my god, did I just say that’s my obstetrician?”

“Yes, you did,” Melissa says, shaking her head and smiling as she straightens his tie and tugs on his shirt collar. “You’ll have to introduce me and we’ll need to trade phone numbers since I’m part of the medical staff.”

“Sure, thanks, Melissa.” He goes with his instinct and kisses her cheek; she’s never been a substitute mother to him, no one could replace his mom, but she’s as close as it gets.

She blinks quickly and looks away for a minute, eyes a little shiny. “You.” Shaking her head she says, “You ready for this? Nervous?”

He shrugs and rubs his belly. “No. Not about getting married or anything. I know a lot of people don’t get it, but…I have absolute trust in Peter and in us. I think we’d be doing this with or without the little bean.”

“Nope, don’t understand it,” Scott says, turning to let his mother straighten his tie as well. “This is about as far from a crush on Lydia as imaginable. But if you’re happy.” He shrugs and looks around again. “Hey, I’m gonna go get Kira some champagne. Do you want any?”

Stiles pats his baby bump and says, “No, thanks. I’m trying not to drink anything until after the ceremony so I don’t need a bathroom break.”

“Oh, it gets worse, I think Scott started practicing lacrosse while he was in there,” Melissa grins and checks her watch. “So it’s about time, honey. I’m going to go sit by your dad so we can both cry a little.” She brushes his hair off his forehead and then kisses his cheek. “You look so handsome,” she whispers before she scurries away.

“Your mom is trying to kill me, isn’t she?” Stiles asks his friend who shrugs. “Go make your girlfriend happy and see you afterwards.”

 

It’s not long before everyone gathers in the center of the clearing, Stiles and Peter in the middle with Darryl.

Peter matches Stiles in his dark suit and white shirt. Peter’s tie is blue striped and Stiles’ is plaid, even though Lydia says it’s a terrible idea. Peter just laughed.

“Everyone ready?” Darryl asks the group. He’s in dress pants and a button down shirt with a tie, having lost his jacket to Allison earlier as the sun set. He looks at Stiles and smiles, flipping through an old, leather bound book. “Nervous?”

“Nope, completely green. After everything else, this is a piece of cake,” Stiles answers, taking Peter’s hand. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“Excited, but not nervous,” Peter tells him, kissing his temple. “Ready when you are.”

Darryl starts the ceremony, clearing his throat and saying, “Thank you, everyone, for being here. I’m Darryl and I’m happy and honored to be able to do the ceremony for members of the Hale pack, allies of the Sandoval pack for years.”

He looks around, making eye contact with everyone and continues. “So we’re here today with pack, families and friends, including some unexpected friends,” he says, looking towards Chris, “to join together Peter Francis Hale and… I think we’re going to stick with Stiles, as a mated pair and real life married people, because I can do both.”

Flipping a few pages through the book, he looks to Stiles and says, “You want the short version or the long version?”

“Short version,” Peter answers and Stiles nods.

“Okay,” Darryl mutters to himself, “Blah, blah, blah, history of matings and marriage, blah, blah.” He flips a couple more pages, nodding and mumbling, “Love and fidelity and protecting each other and children, which yes.” He looks up and says, “Mating. You guys know it’s for life, right?”

They both nod back and Stiles says, “Yeah, death do us part.”

“Great! Okay, let’s get to the good stuff.” Darryl smiles and says, “Biting! Bet this is the first time.”

Peter looks towards Stiles and raises an eyebrow. Stiles grins back, looking delighted at the casual way Darryl is conducting their ceremony.

“I plead the fifth,” Stiles answers.

Darryl looks at Peter and says, “Sure. He’s got a hell of a neck, though. So, let’s get into this. Peter, are you asking to take the emissary known as Stiles as your mate? And your husband, because this is California and I can do both. And to be his mate and husband in return?”

“Yes. I want Stiles to be my mate and to be his in return.”  A smiles flickers on his lips, but it’s not harsh or teasing at all; Stiles feels a twinge in his chest and has to look away.

“Damn hormones,” he mutters, brushing at his eyes. “Not fair.”

“You good?” Darryl asks quietly, for once looking concerned. “Need a minute?”

“I’m good,” Stiles says, squeezing Peter’s hand. “I’m real good.”

“Great! So Stiles, you are emissary of the Hale pack and do you want to ask Peter to be your mate and to be his mate in return? Take a nice bite out of that neck?”

Stiles is pretty sure the wolves around him can smell the spike of lust, but they should be used to it by now. Hopefully they’re also getting the scent of his love. Love and trust and devotion. “Yes, I want Peter as my mate and to be his in return. Forever.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Darryl looks at the crowd and says, “Now it’s important to note that Stiles is the emissary and so the mate bite is going to be a little different, to be sure the lines of his markings aren’t broken. Normally, they’d exchange the mate bite right around here,” he touches himself on the shoulder, “but they’ll go a little higher.”

Stiles holds the collar of his shirt down a little, tilting his head, and leaning towards Peter. He watches the wolf’s eyes flash and smiles. “Come on, wolf, don’t keep us waiting.”

“Love you,” Peter whispers, letting his fangs drop. The bite stings and Stiles winces a little, shutting his eyes. “Done.” Peter cups Stiles’ face with his hand, pulling out a tissue to wipe his mate’s neck.

Stiles presses a hand to his chest and exhales. “Intense.” He looks to Darryl who nods and then turns to Peter who’s pulled down the collar of his shirt and stands waiting, head tilted and eyes half-closed. “Love you, Peter,” he say and bites. He’s bitten Peter hundreds of times by now and appreciates the amount of trust it takes for the wolf to let someone at his throat. This time though, he bites harder, and lets the magic flow through him allowing him to break the skin to leave a bite that will scar, one that everyone can see.

When he pulls away, Peter’s panting, eyes glassy. Stiles presses both hands to his chest, feeling the bond settle between the two of them. He’s felt the pack bonds, of course. He’s felt his alpha’s hold on all of them, felt his packmates when they’re happy or worried or scared. He’s always felt Peter, but not like this, not like a train roaring through his chest and through his head. It’s Peter, and like Peter, it’s intense and almost overwhelming. Underneath it all, there’s protection and love and the trust Peter has in him, in a loop between the two of them.

After a minute, they both smile and take each other’s hands, turning back to Darryl. He looks at them both, giving them a few more seconds to be sure they’re both ready to continue. “You’re now mated, joined in front of pack and family, who celebrate the power of your commitment with you. Oh and also, by the power invested in me by the State of California, I also pronounce you husbands forever. I think by tradition, you get to kiss as well.”

They turn to each other, both unable to stop grinning. It took a while to get here, a lot of suspicion, a lot of work, a lot of sex and awhile to trust, but it’s now legal with the pack and the world.

Wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck, Stiles whispers, “Love you, husband.”

“Love you back,” Peter answers and they kiss for the first time as a newly mated pair, in front of their pack and their friends.

 

Seven months

Peter sits in his car and takes another deep breath, readying himself for what’s next.

He’s not sure which part has him the most nervous – meeting with Rowena at all, what he has to ask, what she might say or want. But he needs to do this, he needs this for his family.

“Get it together, Hale. You’ve fought hunters, you’ve been kidnapped. You were killed, for gods’ sake. You can do this.” He gets out and walks up the driveway of the simple suburban house, locking the door with a quick beep of the horn.

He doesn’t even get a chance to knock, Rowena opens the door, looks him up and down before she steps back. “Peter Hale. I have to say I was a bit surprised to get your request. Surprised and intrigued. You are invited in,” she says, and Peter feels a rush of air, recognizing it as the wards on the door letting him in.

“Thank you for seeing me, and in your home as well,” he answers, glancing around, trying not to be too obvious. She’d expect him to be curious, just not too curious.

It’s a regular house. He’s in an entry foyer and can see into a small living room with matching couches facing a fireplace. The television hanging on a wall is a little small, but maybe it just looks like that to him since Stiles seems intent on getting the largest one available (or watching on his laptop; there’s no in between).

Warm colors, in shades of beige, making him wonder if the paint was her choice or just here when she moved in. The drapes are heavy and make the room look darker than the day outside and he’s pretty sure those are her choice.

Of course the house has that herbal scent he’s used to; slightly sharper than what Stiles has, but it might be because his magic is… slightly less lethal, to put it nicely.

“Sit, please,” Rowena says, sitting on one couch, and pointing to the other so they’re facing each other.

Peter sits and tries to relax – at least as much as is wise in a witch’s house. “Thank you for seeing me,” he says, trying to decide how to start. How to beg for his family.

“You said that already.” She leans back and raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should tell me what you want. Unless you want me to guess.”

“I want to know what you need to leave my family alone. To let Stiles have our child and be safe. To let our child be safe and unharmed.”

She snorts quietly. “A bit vain, aren’t we? Assuming that I give that much thought to your little family.”

He smiles back; this is territory that’s familiar to him. “You seem the type of person who would see a project through; who takes an interest in something or someone and follows up on it.”

“Well, usually that is true.”  She nods and looks off somewhere over Peter’s head and finally says, “I understand he’s doing well, your mouthy mate? And as you said, you’re having a daughter? And she’s doing well?”

“Yes, they’re both very healthy and I’d like to keep them that way,” he says. Bargaining with a witch – he’s done this before and he’ll do it again, when it’s needed.

“You married, I understand.”

“Yes, a couple of months ago. Stiles’ father felt it’s important, and... it doesn’t change much, of course.”

She leans back, crossing her legs and her dress seems to float, spreading out around her. “Apparently I wasn’t invited.”

“No. We wanted a relaxing and enjoyable ceremony,” Peter says, hoping he’s right that he shouldn’t just roll over and show his belly. At least not at first.

And then she chuckles, which is good. “You didn’t invite your little pixies, did you?”

It’s Peter’s turn to chuckle, and he says, “No, as I said, we wanted it to be enjoyable.”

She smiles and says, “So tell me, Wolf, what would you do to keep your family safe? What do you have to offer?”

“What do you want, Rowena?” It’s best not to offer things to a witch, not in a situation like this.

“What do I want? Hmm.” She cocks her head and studies him for a long moment. “And you want me to leave them alone? I’m not doing anything extra?”

“No. Just leave them both alone. Leave us all alone.”

“Sooooo,” she says, looking towards the ceiling with a smirk. “If your daughter were to run in front of a truck, I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing. Stiles is in charge of warding her. And we won’t be letting her run into any streets,” he answers. And he wants to leave, he just wants this done.

She smiles at him and says, “Understood. And so what will you give to keep your family safe? Would you give your life?”

“No. No, we’re mates and if I were to die, it would possibly kill him as well. And besides, the goal here is to be alive to see my child grow. To see all of us grow together.” He shifts in his seat and thinks of what Stiles has told him. “I’m told a werewolf’s blood or fang or claw is used in some spells; a born werewolf being more powerful. Would this interest you?”

“Perhaps, perhaps. But you know, you’re not my first werewolf pack. Those might be…common.” She sighs out a breath, looking at the clock ticking over the fireplace. “No those are common. What I want is a paw.”

“A what?” he asks, because he couldn’t have heard this right.

“A paw, your left paw, I think. Can you shift your paw to your wolf form?” she asks, sitting forward in her chair, looking at his hands. “You can keep the ring, I don’t need that.”

He pulls off his wedding band and shoves it into his pocket, then thinks for a minute and lets his hand shift. It’s not a full wolf, but it’s more than his beta form, with sharp claws at the end of shortened fingers and the back of his hand covered in fur. “Best it gets,” he says.

She looks at it and nods, “That’ll do. Come into the kitchen, I have a cleaver you can use.”

“I can?” he takes a breath and gets up to follow her, thinking of his mate and his unborn child and keeping them safe from the witch that’s taken notice of his family.

Rowena opens a drawer and pulls out a Chinese cleaver, the type Peter uses to cut up chicken at home to make Stiles his favorite soup. She gestures towards a butcher block in the middle of the kitchen and puts the cleaver down. “It’s best if it’s a gift from you. And you are right handed, so…”

“Okay. Okay,” he says, shaking his head to clear it. He shifts his hand back to take off his belt, wrapping it around his forearm. “I will give you my hand, voluntarily. You will not harm or in any way interfere with myself, my spouse and child. Do we have an agreement?”

“I suppose so,” she sighs. “I agree with your offer.”

“I agree and you agree, so we have a contract,” he says. He tightens the belt around his arm, putting the end into his mouth to hold it tight. Peter picks up the cleaver and looks at his hand, shifted again against the wood. He takes a breath, lifts the cleaver and

“Oh for love of all the gods,” Rowena says, grabbing his wrist to stop the cleaver. “You’re ridiculous, wolf. No spouse, no child is worth that.” She slams the cleaver into the block and puts a hand on her hip, staring at him. “You were going to do it, weren’t you?”

“Yes, of course I was,” Peter says, willing his heart to slow down, hearing it pounding in his ear. “We had an agreement and I was going to follow through.”

She shakes her hand and sighs, “Stupid, stupid, ridiculous wolf.” She turns around and digs through a drawer again, finally pulling out a pair of pliers. “Here, a claw will do. Just give me a claw, it should be easy after agreeing to cut off your damn hand. Would that have grown back?”

“No, it wouldn’t have. It would have healed of course, but not grown back. The claw, however, will,” he says. He wipes off his forehead, aware of how warm he is in the small kitchen. Picking up the pliers, he shifts his hand again and looks at her with an eyebrow raised. “Preference? Is one better than the other?”

“Oh, now you’re just stalling,” she says and grabs the pliers and his arm. Before he can say anything, she’s holding up the pliers, looking at the claw from his middle finger. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“Perhaps you have some paper towel or something?” he asks, watching the blood run down the back of his hand.

“Certainly.” She grabs a kitchen towel from the handle of the stove, turning her back as he wraps it around his hand.

He works to slow down his breathing, looking around the kitchen. It’s one he’d like himself with granite counter tops and cabinets of gray washed wood. He snorts quietly and looks at the towel; it has a cute graphic of a family of chickens holding eggs and for some reason this strikes him as very funny. This powerful and possibly (certainly) cruel witch has cute little kitchen towels. But then again, the towels Stiles, his pregnant, male, mage spouse, picked out from Williams-Sonoma are white with blue stripes. So who is to say what’s odd here.

“I think we’re done here,” Rowena says, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looks up and the claw is gone and the pliers are sitting in the dish drainer. “You can keep the towel,” she says, and nods towards the other room and the front door.

 

Nine months and a couple of weeks

Pack and pack adjacents are spread out over the front yard of the rebuilt Hale house. Everyone’s been eating, drinking and generally doing those party things while waiting for today’s show to begin.

Chris approaches Noah, handing him a cold bottle of beer. “Do you know how all this goes down? I haven’t been to a werewolf christening before.”

“No, I’d think not,” Noah says, taking a long drink. “Not that I have. And I’m not one-hundred percent sure that’s what this is. Stiles has just been calling it ‘their naming ceremony’ so I guess we stick with that.”

“Hmm.” He looks around the party, a much smaller crowd than the wedding. All of the pack members and a few parents and even siblings. He’s familiar with everyone, at least familiar with their faces even if he’s not had in depth discussions with them. He’s willing to face it; even with Allison completely considered a pack member, he’s still considered a mostly-trusted hunter. “So how do you like being a grandfather? Is it what you expected?”

Noah’s face brightens and years drop off his face. “I don’t know what I expected, Chris, but…” He sighs and shrugs, “she’s beautiful. And a she’s just a happy baby, she smiles all the time. Now, I know, maybe it’s gas or whatever, but I’m going to say it’s a smile.”

“Stiles and Peter are willing to share?” Chris asks and he can’t help smiling as well at his friend’s obvious happiness.

“A little,” he chuckles. “I can hold her while Stiles hovers nearby, like I’m going to drop her or something. Peter seems more relaxed, but you know how he is; he looks like he’s not paying attention, but his eyes follow you everywhere.”

“Yeah, I know him,” Chris says, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Generally he likes the pack and knows they keep to the code, but he’ll never completely trust Peter, in spite of his settling down and having a child.

Noah snorts quietly, knowing what the other man is thinking. It’s taken him a while to warm to Peter, but the man does dote on his son and granddaughter. “I think they’re getting started,” he says, looking towards the small platform set up at the end of the lawn, just where it starts to turn into the woods.

Stiles moves a few things around on a table there, small adjustments until he’s apparently satisfied. There’s a small bassinet on the side, and he checks to be sure his daughter, just a week old, is fine and still sleeping quietly, fed and changed and content. He clears his throat and calls out, “Hey, everyone, let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Stiles looks out at the crowd at his adopted family. He still misses his mother, of course, and always will, but this is his family now. “Thank you all for being here, for sharing this occasion when you formally meet our daughter and welcome her into our pack.”

He picks her up, letting her cuddle into his shoulder, kissing her head. “When we had our mating ceremony a few months ago, it was a mixture of human and wolf ceremonies, and today’s a little different. Today’s ceremony is a mixture of wolf and magic. Because I said so.”

“So you may have noticed that our alpha and my baby-daddy haven’t been mingling this evening, and that’s because they’ve been out protecting our territory and…” He looks over his shoulder as two wolves approach and gracefully step on the platform next to Stiles. Derek’s wolf, is black and slightly larger than Peter, the gray and white wolf next to Stiles who drops a rabbit at his feet. “And bringing a gift, both showing that they can protect and provide for our pack and for our new pack member. Thank you, dear,” he says, scratching Peter behind the ear. “Umm, magic, yeah. So here’s the thing. Magic rites tend to have naked participants, because it’s about being closer to the earth and not hiding and you know, we just like being naked a lot.”

He can hear Cora sighing and Erica whispers, “Yeah, baby.”

“Now I know not everyone wants to see our alpha and me and Peter naked – at least not me, I just had a baby and I’m still really squishy,” he says, smiling as Peter bumps his thigh with his head. “Blinded by love, aren’t you?  Anyway, for those of you who don’t want to see nakedness and I pray that includes you, Dad, what you’ll do is when I say shut your eyes, you shut your eyes. And then I’ll say open your eyes and when you do, we’ll be naked, but you won’t see it. It’ll look kind of bluzzy, like naked people do on basic cable movies? But you won’t see the good stuff. Everyone got that?”

He waits for a minute and then says, “Okay, shut your eyes if you want to.” He waits again, looking out at everyone being sure the ones he expected, including his dad and Chris, have their eyes closed. “Scott? Really?” he sighs loudly and slips the robe he’s wearing off his shoulders, shifting his daughter from arm to arm.

At the same time, Peter and Derek both shift to their human forms, the sound of bones changing shape loud in the quiet grove.

Stiles smiles at them both and hands Peter a small towel to wipe his mouth before he gives him a quick kiss. “Alright, open your eyes.”

“Nice job, Stilinski,” Erica says, smirking and nodding. Somehow she’s made her way to the front, pulling Boyd with her.

“Thanks, Erica, I guess you like squish?”

“I meant your baby daddy, but sure,” she replies and winks at him. Of course most of the pack’s seen both Derek and Peter naked when they’ve shifted before, so it’s not completely new to them.

“And thanks for that again. Anyway, everyone’s okay, no one’s blinded, right? Let’s get this moving, I have a new born to take care of.”

 

Peter holds the baby while Stiles uses his finger to mark her forehead with a mixture of herbs and oil. His whispers are quiet so that none of the wolves (other than Peter and Derek) can hear him. After that, he copies his marks on her chest, and grins when she giggles.

Stiles and Peter both turn to Derek and Stiles says, “Alpha, do you accept this new member to your pack?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and the expression on his face is softer than most of his friends have seen. “Welcome to our pack.” He takes the baby from Peter and gently rubs his cheek against both of hers before he hands her back to Stiles.

“Good job.” He takes a breath and uses his shoulder to wipe his eyes, muttering, “Hormones man, they mess with you.” Peter steps behind him, wrapping his arms around Stiles so they’re both supporting their daughter in their arms. “Everyone, please welcome our new packmate, who is called Joy.”

As previously instructed by Stiles, Scott starts the applause and there’s a few whistles and even a howl or two.

Grinning, Stiles says, “Yeah, she’s awesome.” He puts her in her bassinette and steps to the front again, saying, “Okay, now you can come forward and welcome her, scent mark her, tell her something nice, give her a blessing, whatever you want. No pressure. And it’s private, so no cheating and trying to listen in. This is between you and Joy.”

Stiles and the two wolves step off to the side, watching as the pack queues up, Stiles’ father at the front, followed by Cora, their only blood family. They watch as their family and friends come by and say hello to the little girl.  Some, like Kira, leave a small charm – a coin or a shell or a bit of crystal. Stiles is already planning to put these into a little bag to keep in her crib for luck and safety.

“She’s so precious,” Melissa says, gripping Scott’s arm. “I want one, you give me one of these.”

“Not immediately, but sometime, we will. Maybe,” he answers, glancing at Kira, who just shrugs. Watching her parents gently touch Joy’s cheeks.

After everyone’s formally greeted her, Peter picks her up and Stiles says, “Thanks, all. Uh… that’s it, guess we’ll get dressed now and everyone go back to partying!”

 

“Nice ceremony, Stiles,” Lydia says, handing him a glass of champagne. “I’m assuming you can drink?”

“Yeah, not like I’m breast feeding,” he answers, taking a sip from the glass. “Only thing I regret is she’s on formula, but... it will be nice getting my body back. I still feel so flabby.”

“It’s not like I was really looking, because that would be rude, but you look fine, don’t be so hard on yourself.” She turns, watching the crowd and Noah who looks annoyed when anyone wants to take Joy from his arms. “Peter still looks at you like you’ve hung the stars.”

Stiles bites his lip and shrugs. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s great. And he’s so in love with her, he’s already wrapped around her tiny little fingers.”

“She’s adorable.” Lydia sips some more and says, “I noticed you said she’s called Joy, not her name is Joy. So…”

He grins and kisses her head, “Well, she’s called Joy, isn’t that enough?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, taking another sip.

“A name is a very powerful thing, Lydia. Of course you know that. On her birth certificate and on her adoption papers – which shows her birth mother’s name – it says she’s Joy. So that must be right, right?”

“And her real name is documented where?”

Stiles searches for his daughter and finds her with Allison and Erica who are sniffing her head with their eyes shut. It’s not scenting, not really. It’s that magic baby thing that Stiles finally understands. “Carved on a stone and traced in our blood and at the bottom of a body of water – and I’m just cautious enough that I won’t even tell you which one in case somehow, someone finds out and tries to find it.”

“Paranoid enough?” Lydia asks, taking his empty glass.

“I prefer to think of it as careful.” He takes her arm, nodding at his spouse and says, “Let’s go for food, I’ve been fasting all day and I’m starving.”

 

It’s almost midnight and the party is still going on. Only a few who have to work in the morning have left, and the rest are still visiting, drinking and finishing up all the food that’s been weighing down the tables.

Stiles is the first to notice Rowena standing at the edge of the party, a flute of champagne in her hand as she surveys the crowd. She’s apparently dressed for the party, in a lacy black dress and her hair pulled up. “Peter,” he whispers and heads over to her.

Peter’s there at the same time Stiles is, approaching the smiling witch with matching smiles of their own.

“Rowena, this is unexpected.” Peter hands her a full glass that he snatched from Erica on the way over.

She takes the glass with a slight nod, putting her empty one on a table behind her. “Well, I heard that today’s the naming day for the mage’s new babe, so of course I felt I should visit. And where is the wee one?”

Derek’s growl is low and some other wolves join in, standing in front of Cora, who’s shifted as she holds her cousin.

“Oh, none of that now, I mean no harm,” she says, looking over at Peter. “I won’t hurt a hair on her tiny little head. I just thought that since we’re all sharing this little village, I’d come and pay my respects to the growing family. I even brought a small token.” She holds her hand out towards Stiles, and in her palm is a blue and white stone, shiny like an opal.

“It’s a moonstone. It’s lovely, thank you.” Stiles shows it to Peter and nods at Rowena. “It’s a very nice gift, thank you.”

She nods back, taking a sip of her champagne. “You’re welcome. It’s supposed to be calming and I know you need that. I also think you may have lost one recently?”

Stiles pales and Peter takes his arm, pulling him back a step. “We may have,” he answers. It is lovely and of course, I have an affinity for moonstones as well.”

“I mean no harm,” she says again, reaching to surreptitiously touch Stiles on his arm.

Something unsaid passes between them and he takes a breath, stepping closer to Peter. “I don’t think you do,” he says, cocking his head as he appraises her. He pauses for a minute and finally says, “Would you like to meet her? Our daughter?”

“I would very much,” she answers and her smile looks like it might be real. “And what is the babe’s name?”

“We call her Joy,” Peter tells her, glancing over his shoulder. “Derek, could you bring her here?”

Cora doesn’t look happy giving the baby to Derek, and there’s a few rumbles in the pack, but both Peter and Stiles smell calm and if the protective parents are calm, it might be okay.

Derek brings Joy over and stands behind Peter. “Rowena,” he says, giving her a curt nod.

“Alpha Hale, lovely to see you, too.” She’s silent while Derek hands Joy to Stiles, who coos at her, kissing her forehead. “I hope you don’t mind I’m in the preserve so close to the full moon – but since your celebration was here, I really didn’t have a choice, did I?”

“It’s fine,” Peter tells her, brushing his hand over Joy’s hair, smoothing and scenting her at the same time. He looks at Rowena and asks, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Hold her?” Rowena looks startled and takes a step back.

Stiles grins and says, “I used to feel that way about babies, but she’s pretty harmless, I promise.”

“Better than Stiles, I’m sure,” Peter confirms. “And she’s freshly changed, so she should be safe.”

“I suppose so,” Rowena says, still looking uncertain as Stiles hands her their child. In spite of sounding unsure, the witch takes Joy carefully, supporting her head she smiles gently. “She’s quite lovely. And she smells…very nice for a baby. Much better than mine ever did.”

Stiles crosses his arms and steps back into Peter’s arms, willing himself not to grab his daughter back. “Well, she doesn’t always smell this good, but she was rinsed off just a little bit ago.”

“That helps. That and no one did a lot of bathing three hundred years ago.” She looks at Peter and Stiles and says, “May I give her a small blessing?”

Peter stiffens again, but Stiles’ scent remains calm. “Stiles, your choice.”

He studies her trying to decide if she’s a danger to their family. Peter didn’t tell him outright what he’d done when he went to see Rowena a couple of months earlier – he didn’t even say he’d seen her -- but Stiles has his suspicions, when he came home smelling of another’s magic. “We’d appreciate that,” he says, feeling no bad intent from her. Also, it’s a sign of respect to a much stronger mage.

Rowena changes her hold on Joy so she can lift her to face each other. “Little baby, your parent’s joy. May you be strong and smart. May you be brave and healthy. Listen to others, but make your own decisions. Accept your pack’s protection and protect them back, little wolf.”

“Wolf?” Peter whispers to Derek who shrugs.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling at his spouse. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but…”

“Listen to your parents, they’re not _always_ stupid.” She kisses the baby’s forehead, smirking at how Peter’s nose twitches. “She’s lovely. Thank you for including me in your celebration.”

“Thank you, Rowena,” Stiles says, taking Joy back and rubbing her back as he holds her against his shoulder. “Thank you for everything.”

 

Rowena leaves and the party continues for another hour or so until everyone’s tired and full and tipsy. Some of the wolves stay outside, either shifting to their wolf form or just curling up next to each other to keep warm. Peter, Stiles and their daughter go inside to one of the guest rooms always ready in the pack house.

Joy’s been fed and changed one more time and is asleep in her bassinette. Peter and Stiles curl up together in their bed, happy but exhausted. “This was good, this was a good day,” Stiles whispers.

“Not without its drama,” Peter says, rubbing his lips over his mate’s neck, making sure his is the last layer of scent at the end of the day and the first scent Peter will smell in the morning. “But it went okay, I think. Everyone was happy and I think they all felt included.”

“Um hm,” Stiles says and yawns, rolling over so he’s the little spoon, cuddled against Peter’s chest. “You know, in a couple of years, when Joy’s older…maybe we could think about doing this again?”

He feels Peter’s chuckle against his back. “You are trouble. Let’s let this one get out of diapers first?”

“Okay, just want to put it out there.”

“Go to sleep, dear heart, we have plenty of time to consider it later. Much later.”


End file.
